


The Story of Hazel Knight; Book Two - More Danger and More Mysteries

by CaspyCasp



Series: The Story of Hazel Knight [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 65,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaspyCasp/pseuds/CaspyCasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hazel Knight is back for her second year.<br/>With more mysteries than ever before, she'll need help from her friends to solve them before it's too late.<br/>(will eventually be a love story)</p><p>Part Two of 'The Story of Hazel Knight'</p><p>Titles: I Love Magic - Book One<br/>More Danger and More Mysteries - Book Two<br/>Crushes are the Worst - Book Three<br/>Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes - Book Four<br/>Ours - Book Five<br/>Distance Means Nothing - Book Six<br/>Until the very End - Book Seven</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start reading, I would like to iterate that this is not my story. I did not write it, so I own nothing.  
> It is originally written on Quotev by bucky kentucky, and you can find her profile at www.quotev.com/arcticmaryams
> 
> I own nothing. All things Harry Potter related belong to J.K. Rowling, and anything else belongs to bucky kentucky.
> 
> Thank you.

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter One:  I'm Back**

 

Hey! Do you remember me? It's Hazel Knight here. It's been a while, I suppose.

I'm twelve years old now. My birthday is May 13th and I was born in the year 1980.

In case you don't remember me, I'll refresh your memories. And if you don't know who I am because you haven't read about my first year, well, I'll tell you a little bit about myself.

I'm about a month away from going into my second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In other words, it's almost August. I'm in Gryffindor house. My best friends are Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Fred Weasley and George Weasley.

They're honestly the most amazing people in the whole universe. But I'm closest with Harry. Why, you be asking yourself? Because we've been the best of friends since we were ickle five year old's. We know each other because we're next door neighbours. Yeah, yours truly lives in number five Privet Drive. With my aunt and uncle.

Why do I live with my aunt and uncle? Because my parents are dead. They died when I was barely a year old. Voldemort himself killed them. Yes, I can say Voldemort instead of 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. I don't see what the big deal is, myself. But maybe it's because I grew up in the Muggle world for ten years, so I don't see the big deal.

Back to my aunt and uncle. Daisy and Gabriel. I hate them. And they hate me. We have a mutual hate relationship. Ugh. Don't even get me started on my cousin, Candy. you'd think she'd be sweet and innocent, but she's honestly the ugliest, worst twelve year-old girl I've ever met. But Pansy Parkinson seems to be trying to steal Candy's title.

Anywho, here's some background information on yours truly. I love to prank. My official partners in crime are Fred and George Weasley. But I haven't done a prank in ages, since last year I lost Gryffindor a bunch of points, so in order to earn them back, I tried really hard in class and didn't break any rules. I'm excited to go back to Hogwarts this year, since I'll be able to start fresh and prank again. But that's not the only reason I'm excited to go back. I miss everything about Hogwarts. Especially seeing my friends. I also really want to play one game of Quidditch, even though I know I'll probably never make the team. So I'm counting down the days until September 1st. Who knew I'd be so excited for school?

In terms of appearance, I have dark black hair. I'm not ugly, I think I can at least say that. But I'm not the most gorgeous girl in the world. I'm rather short and skinny, too.

I'm pretty sure that I've covered the basics about me. If not, then I suppose you'll find out sooner or later, anyway. So read on and we'll see together what craziness life will throw at us this year at Hogwarts.


	2. Can't I Just Go and Say Happy Birthday to my Best Friend?!

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Two: Can't I Just Go and Say Happy Birthday to my Best Friend?!**

 

Today is July 31. Do you know what this means, my friends? It's Harry James Potter's birthday. I really must say happy birthday to him. What kind of best friend would I be if I don't? A horrible one. I'll set off as soon as possible for his house.

I wolf down my breakfast quickly, and am about to head out the door, when Uncle Gabriel calls me back. I walk back to the kitchen, and see that he has an evil smile on his face. What a sickening sight. Honestly, he should get more consideration. I just ate. I don't want to barf up my breakfast because I have to look at his hideous face. Seriously. How rude.

"What is it, Gabey?" I ask.

I'm still extremely shy when I first meet people, but over my year at Hogwarts, I've gotten a lit more nerve. Maybe stopping Lord Voldemort from coming back and breaking tons of school rules in the process gives a person some more nerve. But I suspect it's from hanging out with Fred and George so much. They've been an influence on me. Not sure if I should say it's a bad influence in that aspect. No worries, though, I'm not as much of a git as they are.

"Respect, girl," he says warningly.

"Oh, I don't think I need to worry about that. I think you do." I say confidently, something I could never do a year ago.

"And why's that?" he snarls, making a violent hand gesture, and then pointing to me, as though saying, "That could be you!"

I'm not the least bit afraid. Because these are empty threats. How do I know this? Because I have my own empty threat. An empty threat that acres Uncle Gabriel more than any threat he makes can scare me. The threat that I will turn them all into fruit bats, or even worse, make them look abnormal or scary looking people in some way, like dying their hair green or making their faces more hideous than they already are. I have used this empty threat all summer. It's kept me safe from any abuse that Uncle Gabriel would use on me in any other circumstance.

At once, I raise my hands and begin wiggling my fingers, and say in a mystical sort of voice, "Abracadabra! Alakazam! Hocus Pocus!"

Uncle Gabriel lets out a roar of both fear and rage and clutches both of my hands in one hand and clamps his other hand over my mouth. I bite his hand and wriggle my own hands out of his painfully tight grip.

"Don't touch me, or my next victim will be you," I say threateningly. "Now, tell me what you want or I'm leaving. I have places to go and people to see, and I'd rather not waste my time talking to you."

Like I said, I've gotten a lot of nerve over the past months. Or maybe that's just bravery to finally stand up to this git. One or the other, I suppose. Or is it the same thing?

"You mean seeing your little boyfriend?" Uncle Gabriel sneers.

I know immediately that it's Harry. At first, when he's use this to insult me, I was completely and utterly confused. I've had minor, silly, little crushes on Muggle boys before, but the only living soul who knew about those were harry, who was like my brother and I could trust with anything, since he wasn't likely to tell anybody if I didn't want him to. It would always used to take me about a minute to finally figure out that he meant Harry. Which was ridiculous, of course, because, like I said, Harry is like my brother. But that was the point of the insult. To make me feel embarrassed. But it never worked, even when Harry was around. Because we both know where our relationship stands, so why would it matter if my git of an uncle is saying those sort of things to make me feel embarrassed? The mere thought of Harry and I together in that sort of way is unimaginable, so why would Uncle Gabriel's words embarrass me?

"Harry is not my boyfriend," I say calmly, "and it's none of your business who I'm going to see. Now, tell me what you want of I'm leaving."

"Harry and Hazel sitting in a tree," Candy suddenly begins to sing in a horrible off-pitch voice, looking expectant for a blush to appear on my face, "K-I-S-"

"Jealous that I can actually get a boyfriend unlike you and your ugly face?2 I retort, cutting her off.

"Don't you dare talk to Candy like that!" roars Uncle Gabriel, and I receive a lot of spit in my face. Disgusting.

I wipe my face pointedly and say, "I'll talk to her any way I like, thank you very much! Now, you've got five seconds to say what you want or I'm leaving! five-four-three-"

"You have chores to do," Uncle Gabriel interrupts, "here you go."

He hands me a long list of chores to do. I have to mop all of the floors, clean all of the rooms, organize all of the shelves, wash the dishes, wash the windows and polish Uncle Gabriel's car. So, pretty much, I've got to do what my aunt, uncle and cousin are too lazy to do. Great.

I'm suddenly reminded of the classroom I had to clean with Fred last year for detention. It was only one room, and it still took two hours for the two of us combined to clean it. This will take all day to do! Harry's birthday with be over by then and he'll think I forgot!

"I reckon you should get to it, then," says Uncle Gabriel with a nasty smile.

With a glowering look at my aunt, uncle and cousin, I grab a mop and set to work. I can hear Candy say, "I can _so_ get a boyfriend! I just don't want one!"

I laugh and say, "More like none of them want you!"

Ignoring Uncle Gabriel's yells and Candy's scream of protest, I go back to mopping the living room floor. Half and hour later,, I'm finally done and quickly hurry to do the others. I need to get this done quickly so that I can see Harry. I start mopping extra fast and in an hour, I'm completely finished the bottom floor. I glance at the clock before I move upstairs. 10:30. Right, if I hurry this up, I'll be able to get out in the afternoon.

I hurry upstairs to mop the bedrooms. I start with Uncle Gabriel's and Aunt Daisy's first. It takes around thirty minutes to mop up and sort all of their shelves. It's eleven o'clock. I'm about to open the door to Candy's room, when the door swings open to reveal it's owner. Candy looks at me for a second, then smiles evilly.

"Happy cleaning," she says happily, and walks down the stairs, her heavy footfalls probably audible across the neighbourhood.

 I frown at the spot she was just moments before, my brow furrowed. What does she mean by that? I open the door and see the answer very clearly. Her room is a disaster zone. She usually keeps it moderately clean, but now it looks like a tornado went right through it. It's obvious she's done it on purpose. Probably as revenger for the boyfriend comments. But maybe she just did it to bug me. I wouldn't put it past her. Anyway, brilliant form of revenge. Simple, yet effective. The few seconds it took her to mess up her room, would cost a lot more time for me to clean up. I wouldn't expect her to come up with something this clever. I'm almost proud of her. Almost.

It takes a full fifty minutes to clean up the whole mess. Ten minutes until noon. I clean up the guest room next, which takes about ten minutes, since it's already pretty neat. It's now noon. I clean my room, which takes ten minutes, since all of my stuff is packed in my trunk, and i have no shelves to sort out.

So, I've got the shelves organized, the rooms cleaned, and the windoes washed. I decided to wash the dishes now, since it will take the least amount of time. It takes around twenty minutes. I look at the clock, 12:25. Now all that's left to do is wash the car.

I grab a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, throw the door open, and fling myself into the fresh, summer air. I look at number four hopefully, wanting Harry to be there, so that I can wish him happy birthday, but I'm sadly disappointed. I sigh, place the bucket next to me, grab the hose, and rinse the car. After that, I grab the sponge, dunk it in the water, and begin to wash the car. It takes at least twenty minutes to completely cover the car with the soapy water. I take the hose again, and rinse off the car. FINALLY DONE!

I walk back inside triumphantly, and glance at the clock. 12:50. So I didn't completely throw away my day. There's still time to go and see Harry. I grin at the though. "GABEY, I'M DONE ALL THE CHORES. I'M LEAVING NOW!" I yell from the hall.

Uncle Gabriel comes bursting in from the sitting room, and looks at me, his small eyes narrowed in utter disbelief. I suppose he's surprised that I've done all this and it isn't the end of the day yet.

"Everything? Washed the dishes? Washed the windows? Cleaned the rooms? Mopped the floors?"

"I've done it all," I confirm, nodding my head confidently.

"All of it?" he asks, narrowing his eyes even more so that they're almost closed.

"Witch's honour, "I say, simply because I know it will bug him.

It does. By the look on his hideous face, I can tell that he really wants to choke me to death right now. Because of this, I smile brightly at him, just because I know that will drive him insane.

"I don't believe you," he says suspiciously.

I roll my eyes and say, "Well, if you look around you instead of glaring at me, you'll see that the house is spotless. And you can go outside and look at the car if you really want to."

He looks around at the clean house, and he looks back at me in intense dislike, as though my success if making him hate me even more. Which is probably true. Without a word to me, he walks outside into the driveway. What a prat. It's silent for a moment. And then I can hear Uncle Gabriel's voice, calling me outside once more.

"Hazel, girl, get here quick, you little liar!" he exclaims.

Confusion fills me up. What could he possibly be talking about? That car is as spotless as it's ever been. I shake my head to snap myself out of it. He's probably just delusional. It wouldn't be the first time, since he thinks Candy's some perfect angel. I walk outside to join him.

"What?" I ask.

"You haven't finished washing the car," he says triumphantly. "Look at this! It's soaking wet!"

"It can just dry in the sun!" I say incredulously, and with difficulty, I resist calling him an idiot. Even though he is, so it would be being honest.

"Do you expect me to go out into town when my car is soaking wet?!" he exclaims, "if you do, then you have another thing coming! you can't see your precious, little boyfriend until this car is completely dry!"

As he walks back in, I call him a few interesting names I've learned from Fred and George. After a few moments of standing there, staring blankly at a bit of gravel and cursing Uncle Gabriel's name, I walk back inside to get a large cloth to dry it. I'm about to head back out, when Uncle Gabriel stops me.

"Oh, no," he says. "You won't be drying the car with that thing. You'll be using this."

He hands me a dish towel. A horribly small dish towel. I take it, staring at the thing in disbelief. He can't be serious. But apparently, he is, because he grabs my own cloth. If looks could kill, Uncle Gabriel would be dead right not because of the look I'm giving him right now. When I don't move, Uncle Gabriel pushes me roughly to get me moving.

That doesn't work out too well. I fall to the ground. I glare at him for a few more seconds, before i get up, and storm back outside, making sure to slam the door shut, even though I know I'll probably be locked out for that.

After what I guess to be fifteen or twenty minutes, I head back inside, since the car is completely dry. Conveniently, the door is unlocked. I walk into the sitting room and see all the Martin's there, watching the TV intently.

I clear my throat in a McGonagall type way, since I know this gets people's attention from experience, and say, "I'm done drying the car now."

"All right, then, I'm going into town. You can go have fun with your little boyfriend now. Be back by 7:30, though, and bring him with you. The Dursleys' have got important guests coming over and they don't want people like you and him ruining it for them. Keep to your room and don't break anything, it I'll make sure that both of you are locked up for the rest of the summer." Says Uncle Gabriel, standing up and heading out into the hall.

"BYE!" I say happily, because Harry staying over while the Dursley's important guests are there means more time with Harry.

I glance at the clock one more time. 1:15. There's still time to get to Harry and explain why I didn't wish him happy birthday right away like I usually do. I throw myself into the summer day, feeling very free now that I have no chores to do. I walk across the lawn that separates our houses, and knock on the door of number four, Privet Drive. I just hope Harry answers and not one of the Dursleys...


	3. Happy Birthday My Best Friend! Let the Mysteries Begin!

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Three: Happy Birthday My Best Friend! Let the Mysteries Begin!**

 

I knock, and unfortunately, Petunia Dursley answers the door. At the sight of me, a scowl forms across her lips, enhancing her ugliness. Yeah, the Dursleys just love me.

"What are you doing here?" she answers angrily.

"Oh, I'm here to have a tea party with you," I say sarcastically. "I'm here to see, Harry. Why else would I bother coming here?"

"Mind your attitude," she snarls.

"Right, whatever, so where is he?" I say impatiently.

"He's in the back," she tells me distastefully. "You can go around."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Tuney," I say.

Yeah, I tend to make nicknames for the Dursleys and the Martins to annoy them. for some reason, she stiffens at the sound of the nickname and glowers at me furiously. Weird, I just shrug it off, walking back to my house, and go through it and into the backyard.

Once there, I walk up to the fence, and, taking a deep breath to gather my courage, I climb over it. I manage to make it to the top without falling, but once I'm trying to climb down into Harry's backyard, I lose my footing and fall flat on my back. Well, that hurt.

I close my eyes for a second, and when I open them again, I see a grinning Harry standing over me. I can tell that he's trying very hard not to laugh, but there is some concern on his face.

Only because it's his birthday, I say, "Oh, go ahead and laugh already, I know you want to."

As soon as I give him permission, he bursts out laughing. When he finally finishes, he sticks his hand out for me to take, and he helps me up to my feet. I grin at him.

"Happy birthday, buddy!" I say, hugging him.

"Thanks! You know, for a second there, I thought you forgot about it," he replies, smiling at me.

"How could I forget?" I say. "I wanted to come over as soon as possible, but my uncle gave me a bunch of chores to do right after breakfast. And when I was about to leave, he got all nitpicky and said I wasn't finished because I didn't dry the car after I washed it."

"Oh, sorry about that, then," he says apologetically.

"No worries," I reply, shrugging and leaning against the fence. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Doing chores," he tells me.

"What do you have to do?" I ask, my eyes narrowing. I don't like how the Dursleys treat Harry in the slightest.

"Well, so far, I've cleaned the windows, washed the car, and mowed the lawn," he answers.

"Those prats! They're making you do that on your birthday?!" I exclaim incredulously.

"Did you expect them to throw me a huge party?" he asks.

"No," I admit, "I just wish they weren't so horrible to you. Anyway, I'll help you! Maybe we'll be able to get through it all quicker this way."

"Oh, you don't have to," Harry says immediately, "you just went through a morning of chores. Besides, I've got it all under control."

I raise an eyebrow at him and ask. "What else do you have to do now?"

"Trim the flowerbeds, prune and water the roses, and repaint the garden bench." he answers sheepishly.

"That'll take forever if you're alone," I insist, "I'll help and maybe we can get through this quicker."

"All right, fine," he agrees reluctantly.

"Wait," I say suddenly. "It's your birthday. I should sing happy birthday to you. Fair warning, I may not sound like an angel. I wouldn't know, since I only sing in the shower."

With that, I begin to sing happy birthday to Harry. I'm honestly not sure if I'm a good singer. My aunt, uncle and cousin say I'm horrible, but they would say that even if I had the most beautiful voice in the world, so how can I tell if they're telling the truth or not? Any other time I've sung outside of the shower, I've made sure that I'm completely alone. When the song ends, Harry hugs me, and whispers, "Thanks."

"No problem," I say, "now let's get to work."

"I swear, you've got such a pretty singing voice." Harry tells me matter-of-factly.

"Thanks," I say sheepishly as we begin to trim the flowerbeds. "I suppose all of these chores are for the guests that are coming over?"

"Yeah, how'd you know about that?" Harry asks, looking surprised.

"My uncle told me about it. You're staying over at my house while they're here." I explain.

"Oh, right." he says.

We're silent for a moment as we work. But it's not awkward. It's comfortable. Just like we always are around each other. Well, of course we would be, we're like siblings.

"Hey, Hazel, have - have Ron and Hermione sent you any letters yet?" Harry asks me in a would-be casual way.

"Erm, Hermione has, but Ron hasn't. Nor have Fred and George, and the three of them said they would," I answer and I notice how upset he looks. "Have they sent you anything?"

"Nothing. I was hoping they'd remember my birthday, but apparently not," he admits, looking slightly guilty.

"I'm sure they've got some sort of reason. They're probably just busy," I assure him, and decide not to mention that they remember my own birthday.

"Hazel, don't tell anyone this, but I was sort of wondering whether I had actual friends at Hogwarts?" he asks me, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Harry, of course you've got friends at Hogwarts! For one thing, you've got me. For another, Ron and Hermione wouldn't risk their lives with you if they weren't actually your friends," I say.

"Right... right..." he says, "there's something else. You might think I'm mental, but I was sitting on the garden bench over there, and staring into the hedge. And, er, it stared back."

"Excuse me?" I asked in utter confusion, "they hedge _stared_ at you?!"

"Well, not the hedge itself, obviously," Harry elaborates, "I mean, there was something in the hedge. Something with big green eyes. But before I could get a good look at it, it disappeared."

"Do you reckon it was something from the Wizard World?" I ask in interest.

"It must have been," Harry says thoughtfully. "But the real question is, 'what is it?'"

"I haven't a clue." I say pensively. "But we'll have to talk about it later, unless whatever it is comes back again, we need to get this work done."

"Right," Harry says, and we go back to work.

Finally, when it's 7:27, Petunia calls us back, warning us to step on the newspaper. We're to eat at my house. We walk carefully through the house, out the door, and across the lawn to my house. The car is back in the driveway, which means that Uncle Gabriel is back. Oh goody.

Once inside, we quickly eat our small dinner, and, after a lecture from Uncle Gabriel about what would happen if we misbehave, hurry upstairs to my room, eager to talk about the visitor. When I open the door, we're about to sit down on my bed.

But the problem is that something is already sitting on the bed. Something completely, totally and utterly unexpected.


	4. Dobby

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Four: Dobby**

 

On my bed, is a little creature with bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. It takes a lot of restraint not to scream. Harry and I exchange glances, and I know immediately that this must have been the creature in the hedge. It slips off the bed and sinks into such a low bow, that its long, thing nose touches the carpet. I notice its clothes, which looks like a pillow case with leg and arm holes.

"Er - hello," Harry and I say at the same time.

"Harry Potter!" the creature exclaims. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir... such an honour it is..."

"Erm, thank you," Harry says nervously.

"And, how nice it is to meet his..." the creature who is apparently called Dobby, looks at me, and back at Harry, seeing that we have the same hair colour, and we're around the same height and weight and finally decides on, "sister!"

"She's not really my sister, well, technically she isn't, anyway..." Harry says, and then adds, "who are you?"

Brilliant question. Exactly what I was going to ask. Thought, I personally might have said, "what are you?" but I suppose "who" is more polite.

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf." the creature replies.

"Oh - really?" Harry says.

"Er - I don't mean to be rude or anything, but this isn't really a good time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom. No offence, or anything!" I say.

When the elf hangs his head, Harry adds quickly, "not that we're not pleased to meet you, or anything, but, er, is there any particular reason that you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Dobby says earnestly, "Dobby has come to tell you, sir... it is difficult, sir... Dobby wonders where to begin..."

I offer for him to sit down, and to my utter horror, Dobby bursts into tears. Loud tears. Tears that can probably be heard downstairs. And next door. He begins wailing about how he had never been offered to sit down with a wizard as an equal. He can't have met many decent wizards, if that's the case. Harry tries to cheer him up by telling him that. Dobby is about to shake his head, but then suddenly begins hitting himself with a lamp. Of course, Midnight wakes up at that moment, and gives a loud and fierce screech. This is not going very well. Harry and I drag Dobby back to the bed.

Apparently, Dobby had to punish himself because he spoke ill of his family. And when he says family, he means the wizard family he has to serve until he dies. And they don't know he's here. And they'd surely be extremely pissed off if they found out he was here. So Dobby'll have to punish himself for it. By shoving his ears in an oven door. The worst part is, Dobby's family would hardly notice. In fact, they remind him to do  _extra_ punishments. Harry asks why he doesn't just leave. Dobby replies by telling us that he has to be set free, otherwise, he's bound to serve his family until he dies.

When Harry and I offer to help, he dissolves into full blown wails of gratitude. He talks about how great Harry Potter is and how he never knew and how I must be great, if I'm so close to him...

Wait a minute. I just realized. What is he doing here? Why isn't he at Harry's?

"Hang on," I say, "why are you here and not at Harry's place, if it's Harry you want to warn?"

"Dobby spied on Harry Potter and his friend. He heard that Harry would be at the house next door, number five. So Dobby came here to warn Harry Potter."

"Warn me about what?" Harry asks.

Eventually, we're able to find out terrible things are being planned to happen at Hogwarts, and that Dobby is here to warn Harry to not go back to Hogwarts. He can't expect that to work. Nothing can stop Harry going back to Hogwarts. I ask at once who's plotting all these terrible things, and Dobby ends up banging his head against the wall. Oh, brilliant.

Harry has a horrible suspicion about who it is. Voldemort. It makes sense, unfortunately. Who else would cause terrible things to happen at Hogwarts? When he asks, Dobby's eyes widen as though trying to give us a hint. By exchanging glances with Harry, however, I know that he's about as lost as I am. Besides, nobody can make terrible things happen with Dumbledore around, ? When I say this, Dobby agrees that Dumbledore is powerful, but there are things that even Dumbledore doesn't know - I have no idea what he wants to say after that because Dobby stops talking mid sentence and bangs his head on my trunk with ear-splitting yelps.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps. It's Uncle Gabriel! Panicking, I grab Dobby by the scruff of his neck, mutter a quick apology, and stuff him into my trunk, closing the lid behind him. To stay on the safe side, I sit on it.

"Sit on the bed and pretend I'm telling a story," I hiss at Harry, and, just as Uncle Gabriel comes in and Harry sits down, I say, "So, anyway, I was just like - oh, hey, Uncle Gabriel."

"What the devil are you doing in here?!" he exclaims.

"I'm telling a story," I say serenely.

"Well, you're story is so loud I'm sure the neighbours can hear, so keep it down or you both'll wish you were never born, just like I do everyday!" he says, and storms out of the room, slamming the door shut.

I wait for a few moments. When I'm sure that he's left, I stand up and let Dobby out of my trunk. "Sorry, I had to do that, but if he saw you, we'd all be in huge trouble," I say apologetically.

"See what it's like here?" Harry points out. "See why I've got to go back? Hogwarts is the only place I've got - well, I think I've got friends."

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" Dobby says slyly.

Wait a minute. How would Dobby know that? How would Dobby know that Harry wasn't getting any letters? The only way he would know is if he... but he couldn't have...

"I expect they've just been - hang on, how do you know if my friends haven't been writing to me?" Harry asks, frowning.

Dobby shuffles his feet and says, "Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best-"

"Have you been stopping my letters?" Harry asks furiously.

"Dobby has them here, sir," Dobby says.

He pulls out a thick wad of envelopes from his pillowcase outfit. I can make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, and a scribble that I think belongs to Hagrid. Suddenly, I notice a bit of a letter sticking out from an envelope, as though it's been hastily stuffed in. I squint at it to see what it says. I catch the words "Dear Hazel," - Dear Hazel! That letter is to me! That is  _my_ letter! Dobby took some of my letters, too! A few more seconds of squinting and I realize that the penmanship is like Fred's. Dobby intercepted a letter from Fred. That's to me! But why?

"That's a letter to me! Why do you have letters assigned to me!" I say, pointing at the letter from Fred.

"Dobby only has letters that invited Hazel to stay over with Harry Potter and Hazel's friends. Dobby thought that if they came, and Harry Potter saw them, they would talk and Harry Potter would realize his letters had been intercepted. And then Harry Potter would go back to Hogwarts with his friends and Harry Potter would be in great danger." Dobby explains.

Harry makes a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumps quickly out of reach. I try to grab them, but he's too quick for me too. Dobby offers to give back the letters if Harry promises not to go back to Hogwarts.

"No!" Harry says angrily, "Give me my friends' letters!"

Why doesn't Harry just lie and say he won't go back? It would make things so much  easier.

"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," the elf says sadly.

Before we can do anything, the elf opens the door and disappears through it. Mouth dry, and heart pounding wildly in my chest, Harry and I follow. We creep past the sitting room where the Martin's are, and follow Dobby outside. He climbs over the fence, and we follow. Dobby snaps his fingers, and the door unlocks, and he slips through it. Harry and I follow silently. I can hear Vernon Dursley talking from the dining room.

Once we enter the kitchen, my heart almost stops. Petunia's masterpiece pudding, the mountain of cream, and sugared violets, was floating high up near the ceiling, looking like it could fall to the ground, very, very easily. On a cupboard in a corner, crouched Dobby, controlling the pudding.

"No," Harry croaks, "please... they'll kill me..."

"Harry Potter must say that he's not going back to school-"

"Please, Dobby!" I plead desperately.

"Say it, sir," Dobby says.

"I can't-"

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good," Dobby says tragically.

And with a heart stopping crash, the pudding falls to the floor. As Dobby disappears with a crack like a whip, cream splatters the windows and walls. There are screams from the dining room, and Vernon bursts through the door to find Harry and I, rigid with shock, covered in the pudding from head to foot.

It looks like Vernon can gloss the whole thing over with a story about how Harry and I are very disturbed and they have no idea how we got there. He leads the shocked guests back into the dining room, promises to flay Harry alive once the guests leave, tells me that he'll see to it that Uncle Gabriel completely destroys me, and hands us a mop to clean up the mess. I've been doing a lot cleaning today. Petunia gets ice cream out of the freezer, and Harry and I clean up the mess.

Everything seems to be going well for Vernon. When suddenly a large barn owl swoops into the room, drops a letter on the woman's head, and flies out. The woman screams like a banshee and runs away from the house for dear life, shouting about who knows what. The man explains that his wife is mortally afraid of birds, and asks whether this is our idea of a joke. Harry and I exchange glances, and i know he's thinking what I'm thinking., We're so dead.

Vernon advances on Harry, a demonic glint in his eyes, which I must admit, even though I wouldn't tell anybody else this, is kind of scary.

"Read it," he hisses, brandishing the letter in Harry's face, "Go on - read it!"

It's a letter from the Ministry of Magic. Well, it's more like a warning. Saying that if Harry does any more magic, he'll be expelled. Well, not only has Harry been given his first warning, but the secret is out. Vernon knows we can't do magic outside of school. And he'll be bound to tell Uncle Gabriel. Harry and I are in so much trouble... Thanks a lot, Dobby.


	5. Being Rescued

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Five: Being Rescued**

 

Vernon tells me to leave now before he suffocates me. Now that I have no magic to protect me, I give Harry a good luck glance, which he returns, and run out the back door for dear life, hoping Vernon won't hit me from behind.

I scramble over the fence, and land catlike on the ground. I hurry over to the door, and twist the doorknob. But it doesn't open. I stand there, panicking like a crazy person for a few seconds. Then I take a bobby pin out of my hair, and insert it into the keyhole. It takes a few minutes, but I'm finally able to unlock the door. I slip through it silently, closing the door behind me, creep through the hall, and hurry up the stairs.

I fling open the door to my room, and collapse onto the beg, wishing that the door to my room had a lock. I lie in complete silence for who knows how long. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Thirty. Maybe even an hour. But my mind never wanders from a single topic. How long it's going to take my uncle to find out what happened, and what he'll do when he does find out.

Suddenly, I hear heavy footfalls, and yells of rage. I sigh. Here it comes. Who else can it besides Uncle Gabriel? I stand up, bracing myself for the blow that's sure to come. The door's thrown open so violently that it bounces off the wall and almost shuts again. There stands Uncle Gabriel, looking furious and quite terrifying now that I'm completely unprotected.

"Funny, your boyfriend isn't here, but I don't remember telling him it was okay to leave," he hisses.

"I just had a feeling. Sometimes, you gotta go with your instincts," I mutter, looking from the floor to Uncle Gabriel.

"You know, I just got a phone call," Uncle Gabriel continues, "from Vernon Dursley. Told me a funny story. I would tell you, but I think you already know what happened."

"Oh - oh, did he now?" I say weakly, deciding it's best not to deny anything, since he already knows the truth.

"Yes," he goes on, his small eyes glinting in a very scary way, "he says that you and your little boyfriend smashed the pudding they planned to have for dessert, yet, I don't remember you lot leaving the house."

I gulp. This really doesn't look good. Before I can reply, Uncle Gabriel continues talking.

"I suppose you can teleport with your little magic, but wait, you lot can't  _do_ magic outside of school, can you?!" he says, finally letting himself yell.

And that's when it happens. The first blow. He punches me in the stomach. I double over, stagger backwards for a second and fall. He keeps on hitting me, yelling about how I'm a little liar and deserve to be punished. When he finally finishes, he slams the door shut, yelling about how I'm about to get what I deserve.

I lie on the floor, breathing deeply. I've just managed to not cry, even though I want to. I crawl into bed, every movement feeling unbearably painful. I'm finally able to make it to my bed. Once there, I allow myself to dissolve into tears. Thought, I make sure I'm not loud. I don't want Uncle Gabriel to hear. Once I'm finally done crying, I look at the damage that's been done. i have a lot of scars and bruises on my arms, legs and stomach. But if I'm careful, I'll be able to cover it up. As for the pain, I'll just have to grit my teeth and get on with my life.

I hear Uncle Gabriel pounding back up the stairs, and quickly wipe my tears on my pillow case, knowing that my eyes are probably red and puffy. But he doesn't come in. Instead, I hear the sound of drilling, and confusion swells inside of me as a temporary substitute for pain. What is he doing?

After about an hour, he opens the door and says, "You're never going to that school again! I've put locks on your door from the outside. And if you magic yourself out, they'll expel you!"

With that, he leaves the room and slams the door shut. I can hear the click of locks in the silence. Then all I can hear is my rapid heart rate. When it slows down, the truth of the situation crashes down on me. I'm locked in here. Forever. I'm already starting to feel claustrophobic. I may suffocate. And what he's saying is true. If I do try and magic myself out of the room, I'll be expelled. This isn't good. With a great sigh, I crawl under the covers, and fall asleep.

So, it at least turns out that I'm not trapped 24/7. They let me out to eat or go to the bathroom. Otherwise, I'm trapped in my room forever. I could always escape out the window, but there's a rose bush directly under my window, and it has some horrible thorns.

So, here I am, trapped in my room, day after day, with no way of getting out of it. But Harry has it worse, I suppose. They've locked him in, put bars on his windows and only let him out to go to the bathroom three times a day.

Today is officially my third day of being a prisoner. It's coming to an end. The sky is growing dark, and my stomach is rumbling. Exhausted and extremely hungry, I fall into an uneasy sleep.

I'm back at Hogwarts. I'm flying on a broom, racing Fred, George, and Harry. I'm winning. Now, I'm in the common room with Harry, Ron and Hermione, talking and laughing about anything and everything. Now I'm looking at a successful prank Fred, George and i played on Filch. He's got boils sprouting all over his face.

Tapping at my window wakes me up. When I look around and see that I'm in my locked room at Privet Drive and not in the girls' dormitories in Gryffindor tower, a horrible sort of pain swells up inside of me. A type of pain worse than any sort of abuse I've ever heard of. I sink into this world of pain for a few moments, when I hear another tap at my window, slightly more impatient. Wait, what could be tapping at my window? I'm on the second floor. Is it a bird? No, it can't be. Birds can't make tapping noises that loud. Another tapping noise, and I can hear a voice. Hissing something. It almost sounds like a name.  _My name_. So it must be a human. But who? And how? More tapping.

"All right, all right, I'm coming. Keep your hair on," I mutter to nobody in particular.

I stand up and walk over to the window. What I see makes my mouth open in shock. But luckily, I don't scream. Someone is outside my window. Someone with freckles, bright red hair, dark brown eyes, and if I'm completely honest, someone who's rather attractive. Fred Weasley is outside my window. A grin breaks out on his face when he sees me. He says something, but because the window is closed, I can't make out what he's saying. I unlock the window and open it.

"Hey, Hazel!" he says cheerfully. "It's about time you woke up, we've been knocking for ages. You really are a heavy sleeper, aren't you?"

At first, I don't answer, because I see something very distracting. A flying, turquoise car. And inside said car, are Fred, George and Ron, looking extremely casual, as though a flying car isn't a big deal.

"What - what - how did you - what are you doing here?" I finally manage to get out.

"Rescuing you, of course," George says, as though this should be obvious, "but you have to tell us, what's been going on? Why haven't you been answering our letters? We must've invited you and Harry to stay over about a million times. Then Dad comes and tells us Harry's been given a warning by the Ministry for doing magic in front of Muggles-"

"It wasn't him. Wait, how does he even know about that?" I ask.

"Dad works at the Ministry," Ron explains, "he does know that we can't do magic outside of school right-"

"You're one to talk," I say, pointing at the car.

"Oh, this doesn't count," Fred says casually, "we didn't enchant it, we're only borrowing it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles he lives with-"

"I'm telling you, it wasn't him!" I insist. "Whatever, it's a long story, I'll explain later."

"Right, good idea, because we need to hurry this up if we're going to get Harry without getting caught, too. And it'll be more complicated since he's got bars on his windows," Ron says, gesturing at Harry's window.

"Well, go on, get your trunk and Midnight," George says.

I hurry over and grab my trunk, which, luckily, I've had packed for a long time. I drag it over, and pass it to Fred through the window. Then, I grab Midnight's cage, which luckily contains the owl himself, and pass it through the window as well.

"All right, take my hand and I'll pull you through," Fred says, offering both his hands.

I take his hands, and with his help, I'm in the back seat of the car with him. Though, I somehow ended up on Fred's lap. Well, I can't say I saw that coming...

"Hey, Freddie," I say cheekily, deciding that it's best to act like this is funny instead of slightly awkward.

"Enjoying yourself there, Knight?" Fred teases, with a wink.

"Oh, please, you wish I was," I retort, getting off of him and sitting on the seat next to him.

"Um, no, you wish that I was," Fred says.

"If you say so," I say in a singsong voice, and before he can reply, I add, "Let's go save Harry."

We wake up Harry, and together, we explain what's going on. We manage to pull the bars clean off his window without waking anybody up. Fred and George are now getting Harry's things from a cupboard downstairs, while Ron and I take anything that Harry needs from his room. Once we're done, he hurries to help Fred and George. In the silence, I hug Ron and say, "Thanks for rescuing me, buddy!"

"It's nothing, really," Ron says, looking slightly embarrassed.

"It would be something if you were to get caught," I point out.

Harry, Fred and George return, with Harry's trunk. Fred climbs back into the car, and together, we try and get the trunk through the window. After one last push, it slides onto the empty seat next to me.

"Okay, let's go." George says.

It's just as Harry is climbing through the window, when a sudden loud screech sounds from Harry's room. I recognise who it is immediately. Hedwig. He forgot Hedwig.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!" Vernon yells, and panic overtakes me.

"I've forgotten Hedwig!" Harry says, and tears across the room to get the cage.

He grabs it, dashes back to the window, and passes it out to Ron. Harry's scrambling through the window, when the door bursts open and Vernon appears in the doorway. For a split second, he just stares at the scene in utter confusion. Then he lets out a bull-like roar and grabs Harry's ankle. Ron, Fred, George and I grab harry's arms and pull as hard as we can.

"PETUNIA!" Vernon roars. "HE'S GETTING AWAY! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"

But Fred, George, Ron and I give a huge tug, and Harry's leg slips out of Vernon's grasp. Harry's in the car next to me. He slams the door shut. Mission accomplished.

"Put your foot down, George!" Ron yells, and suddenly we're shooting off for the moon.

We look back and see that the Dursleys are all at Harry's window, looking dumbstruck. I look at my window and see that my aunt, uncle and cousin are there.

"See you next summer!" Harry and I yell, waving.

The Weasley's all roar with laughter, and Harry and I settle happily into our seats. No more Privet Drive. I could sing.

"Let Hedwig and Midnight out," I tell Ron, "they haven't had a chance to stretch their wings in ages. They can fly behind us."

George hands Ron a hairpin, and moments later, Hedwig and Midnight are soaring joyfully behind us, Hedwig looking like a ghost because of her snowy white feathers, and Midnight almost invisible, due to his dark feathers.

"So - what's the story, Harry, Hazel?" Ron says impatiently. "What's been happening?"

And so we tell them. We tell them about Dobby, and how he intercepted our letters, and the whole fiasco with Petunia's pudding. There's a long, shocked silence after we finish. I don't blame them. It  _is_ a lot to take in.

"Very fishy," Fred says finally, breaking the silence.

"Definitely dodgy," George agrees, "so he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," Harry replies. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head on the wall."

Fred and George exchange glances. I wonder if they think Dobby was lying. Somehow, I don't think he was. Harry asks that exact question.

"Well, put it this way," Fred begins, "house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they usually can't use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you from coming back to Hogwarts. Somebody's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes," Harry, Ron and I all say at one, and Harry adds, "Draco Malfoy. He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" George asks, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" I reply, shrugging.

"I've heard Dad talking about him," George says, "he was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," Fred says, craning his neck from the passenger seat to look around at us, "Lucius Malfoy came and said he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung - Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle."

Of course, i had heard these rumours about the Malfoys and it doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Malfoy makes Dudley Dursley look like a kind, caring, sensitive and thoughtful boy.

"I don't know whether Malfoy owns a house elf..." Harry points out, looking thoughtful.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizard family, and they'll be rich," Fred says.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing she had a house-elf to do the ironing," George adds, "but all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old mansions and castles and places like that. You'd never catch one in our house..."

Harry and I are silent for a moment. Judging by the fact that Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family is rolling in wizard gild. In fact, it doesn't take much imagination to imagine Malfoy strutting through the halls of a big manor. ending a family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts. Had it really all been some sort of joke? I don't think so, but it seems sort of likely. It's just that, no matter what he did, Dobby's concerns seemed genuine.

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway." said Ron. "I was getting really worried when you two didn't answer any of our letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first-"

"Who's Errol?" I ask.

"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he collapsed during a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes-"

"Who?" Harry asks.

"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," Fred answers.

"But Percy wouldn't let me," Ron finishes.

George mentions that Percy's been acting oddly this summer. I wonder why... but then again, Percy was never exactly normal, in my opinion. Also, it turns out that Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley have no idea that they flew the car over to Privet Drive. Of course, Mr. Weasley works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, which has to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made. Not my first choice, but then again, I don't know that much about wizard careers, do i? Mr. Weasley loves Muggles. Apparently, he finds them fascinating.

"That's the main road," George says. "We'll be there in ten minutes... just as well, too. It's getting light..."

Indeed, a faint pinkish glow was starting to settle along the horizon. He brings the car lower, and I see patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," Fred tells Harry and I. "Ottery St. Catchpole."

Lower and lower the car goes. The edge of the brilliant, red sun was now gleaming against the clumps of trees.

"Touchdown!" George says, as, with a slight bump, we hit the ground. We landed next to a tumbledown garage, and through the window, I can see the Weasley house for the first time.

It's nothing like I expected. But it's the most brilliant house in the world...


	6. The Burrow!

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Six: The Burrow!**

 

It sort of looks like it had once been a large stone pig pen, but rooms had been added here and there until it was eventually several stories high and looked so crooked that it must be held up by magic. Realistically speaking, it probably is. Four of five chimneys are perched on top of a red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance which reads, "The Burrow". Around the front door lay a very rusty cauldron, and a jumble of rubber boots. Several fat, brown chickens are pecking their merry way across the yard.

"It's not much," Ron admits.

Not much? Is he joshing us? It's absolutely, positively brilliant!

"It's wonderful," Harry says.

"Positively brilliant," I add, looking at the house happily.

We get out of the car. Fred turns to the rest of us.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," he explains, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you'll come bounding downstairs going, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Hazel and Harry and no one ever need know that we flew the car."

He beams at the plan. But I'm not sure that'll work. Won't Mrs. Weasley want to know how we got here? I know I would. And then what do we do?

"Are you sure that'll work? It seems like a lot of things could go wrong," i say sceptically.

"Oh, just trust me on this, Knight," Fred says, "I know what I'm talking about."

"All right, fine," I say, holding up my hands in a surrender, "just wondering..."

"Right," Ron says, "come on, you two, I sleep at the - at the top-"

Ron suddenly turns a nasty greenish colour, his eyes fixed on the house in utter horror. The rest of us turn around. Mrs. Weasley is marching across the yard toward us, scattering the chickens. It's odd. She's such a short, plump, kind-faced woman, yet at the moment, she looks remarkably like a sabre-toothed tiger...

"Ah," Fred says simply.

"Oh dear," George adds.

Mrs. Weasley comes to a halt in front of us, her hands on her hips. I try to make my face unreadable, but fail miserably. She stares at one guilty face to the next. She's wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of it.

"So," she says.

"Morning, Mum," George greets, in what he obviously thought to be a jaunty, winning voice. How wrong he is.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" she asks in a deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to-" Fred begins.

"Beds empty! No note! Car gone - could have crashed - out of my mind with worry - did you care? - never as log as I lived - you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill, or Charlie or Percy-"

"Perfect Percy," Fred mutters under his breath.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" Mrs. Weasley yells, prodding Fred in the chest with a finger. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job-"

Her ranting seems to go on for hours and hours. Mrs. Weasley seems to have finally shouted herself hoarse, and turns to Harry and I. harry backs away a little, and it takes a lot of self-control for me not to back away myself.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, Hazel, dears," Mrs. Weasley says, smiling for the first time, "Come in and have some breakfast."

She turns and walks back inside. Harry hesitated. Ron gives him an encouraging smile, and I give him a look that says, "It must be better than Privet Drive". He nods in agreement, and we walk inside. The kitchen is small and slightly cramped. There's a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry and I sit down. I look around at the house in wonder.

The clock opposite me has only one hand and no numbers whatsoever. Written around the edge are things like, "Time to make tea," or "Time to feed the chickens" or "You're late". Books are stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, with interesting titles. Unless my ears are deceiving me, the old radio next to the sink just announced, "Witching House, with popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck!"

Mrs. Weasley is clattering around, making breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing her sons dirty looks as she throws sausages into a frying pan. Every now and then she mutters things like "don't know what you were thinking" or "would have never believed it."

"I don't blame you, dear," Mrs. Weasley assures Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. She turns to me, adds a generous amount of sausages on my own plate and adds, "Nor do I blame you. Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying that we'd come and pick you up ourselves if one of you hadn't written back by Friday. But really-" she adds three fried eggs to each of our plates, "-flying an illegal car halfway across the country - anyone could have seen you-"

She flicks her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which begin to wash themselves, clinking gently in the background.

"It was cloudy, Mum!" Fred insists.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snaps.

"They were starving them, Mum!" George protests.

"And you!" she adds, but her expression softens slightly as she cuts and butters break for Harry.

At that moment, a distraction comes along. A distraction in the form of a small, red-headed girl. She appears in the kitchen, gives a small squeal, and promptly runs out. Well, that was interesting.

"Ginny," Ron mutters, "my sister. She's been talking about you all summer, Harry."

Aww. How cute. Somebody has a crush.

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred says with a grin, but catches sight of his mother's expression and goes back to his breakfast without a word.

"Blimey, I'm tired," Fred yawns, after we finish eating, "I think I'm going to go to bed and-"

"You will not," Mrs. Weasley snaps. "It's your fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again-"

"Oh, mum-" Fred groans.

"And you two," Mrs. Weasley adds, glaring at Ron and George.

Mrs. Weasley says that Harry and I can go to bed is we want, but we're both very wide awake and eager to see a de-gnoming. Mrs. Weasley says it's dull work. I still want to see it. Mrs. Weasley pulls out a heavy book from the mantelpiece. George groans, and say that they already know how to de-gnome a garden, but Mrs. Weasley ignores them. Written across it in fancy gold letters are the words, " _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests_ ". There's a very big photograph of a wizard with wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I must say, he's quite handsome. Like most photographs in the wizard world, this one is moving. The wizard, who I guess is Gilderoy Lockhart, keeps winking cheekily at all of us. Mrs. Weasley beams down at him.

"Oh, he is marvellous," she sighs. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book."

"Mum fancies him," Fred tells Harry and I in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," Mrs. Weasley says, but her cheeks turn bright pink. "All right, if you think you know more than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome out in the garden when I inspect it."

Harry and I follow the complaining Weasley boys out into the garden. In my opinion, this is exactly what a garden should be. Though there are plenty of weeds and the grass needs cutting, there are gnarled trees along the walls, loads of plants spilling from every flower bed, and a big pond full of frogs.

The gnomes are nothing like I expected them to be. They're small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby head that looks shockingly like a potato. Ron grabs one at arms length and turns it upside down. Suddenly, he starts spinning it over his head like a lasso. Well, this is really odd. While he spins the gnome around, he assures harry and I that it doesn't really hurt them, it just makes them really dizzy. He lets go of the gnomes ankles. It flies twenty feet into the air, and lands in the field beyond the hedge with a thump.

"Pitiful," Fred says. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

I learn quickly not to feel bad for the gnomes. One time, when I wasn't reassured that spinning them around and throwing them doesn't hurt them, I decided to just drop it over the hedge. It sensed my weakness and bit my finger. Let's just say, it hurt. It took a while to shake it off, until I finally managed to, throwing it a good forty feet in the process. The air was soon thick with flying gnomes. Fred and I get into an intense competition to see who can throw the gnome the farthest. So far, he's winning. Psh... I could win if I wanted to. I'm just not trying...

Pretty soon, the gnomes leave in a line, their little shoulders hunched. I couldn't call that dull work. It's quite fun, actually.

"They'll be back," Ron says matter-of-factly, "they love it here... Dad's too soft with them, he thinks they're funny."

At that moment, there's the sound of the door slamming. That must be Mr. Weasley. "He's back!" George announces. "Dad's home!"

We hurry back into the house. Mr. Weasley was relaxing on a chair with his glasses off and his eyes closes. He's a thin man, balding a little, but what's left of his hair is as red as his children's, I can assure you that. His long, green robes are dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbles, as he reaches for the teapot and we all sit down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to hex me when I had my back turned..."

Mr. Weasley takes a long gulp of tea and sighs as Fred asks, "Did you find anything, Dad?"

"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting tea kettle," he replies. "There were some pretty nasty stuff that aren't in my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee of Experimental Charms, thank goodness..."

"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" George asks in disbelief.

Mr. Weasley explains that wizards sell it to Muggles so that they can never find it when they need it. And, of course, you can't convict anyone if the Muggles won't admit that their key keeps shrinking.

When Mr. Weasley talks about how wizards take to enchanting the most ridiculous things, Mrs. Weasley says, "LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

The husband and wife bicker for a few seconds, Mr. Weasley looking rather nervous. Then he finally realizes that Harry and I are here. He smiles at us. He's telling us that it's great to meet us and that Ron, Fred and George have told him all about us when Mrs. Weasley shoutes, "Your sons flew that car to Surrey and back last night! What do you have to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" Mr. Weasley asks eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I mean," he falters as sparks shoot from Mrs. Weasley's eyes and she looks like she's about to breathe fire, "that - that was very wrong boys, very wrong indeed."

"Let's leave them to it," Ron mutters as Mrs. Weasley swells like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom."

Harry, Ron, Fred and George and I slip out of the kitchen noiselessly. We go down a narrow passageway, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stands ajar. I can just see a pair of dark brown eyes when the door shuts with a snap.

"Ginny," Ron explains. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally."

"Oh, I suppose you'll be sleeping in her room, just to let you know," Fred adds to me.

"Right," I say, and we walk up two more flights of stairs, until we finally reach a door with peeling paint that says, "RONALD'S ROOM."

I step inside, my head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and am shocked by what I see. Nearly everything is a bright, violent orange. The bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. It takes me a second to realize that Ron has covered almost every bit of his wall with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving enthusiastically.

"Your Quidditch team?" Harry asks.

"The Chudley Cannons," Ron replied, pointing at the orange bedspread, which had two large, black 'C's on it, and a speeding cannonball. I can see Fred and George roll their eyes pointedly. "Ninth in the league."

Ron's school books are stacked untidily in the corner, along with his comic books, called, " _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle,_ ". I wonder what Hermione would think about that. Ron's wand is lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat, grey rat Scabbers, who is sleeping in the sunlight. Not a surprise, really. He's always asleep.

Harry crosses the room and looks at the window. After a moment or so, he turns to look at Ron, who's watching Harry almost nervously, as though waiting anxiously for an opinion.

"It's a bit small," he adds quickly, "not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right under the ghoul; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning..."

But Harry just smiles widely and says, "This is the best house I've ever been in."

I agree. I agree a lot. This house is too amazing to describe. To reassure him, I tell Ron that. His ears turn bright pink.


	7. Playing Quidditch and the Truth Come Out

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Seven: Playing Quidditch and the Truth Comes Out**

 

Life at the Burrow is ridiculously different from life at Privet Drive, and not just because the people here actually seem to lie me. Life in Privet Drive is always so neat and ordered and expected and, well,  _boring_. Life at the Burrow is strange and unexpected and interesting. There are talking mirrors, the ghoul will moan loudly or drop pipes whenever he thinks it's too quiet, and explosions from Fred and George's room are considered completely ordinary. And I positively love it. After about a week of life at the Burrow, we receive our Hogwarts letters.

When Harry and Ron arrive at the breakfast table, I'm already there, examining my letter. I probably would've slept in too, but Ginny woke me up and I was hungry so I went downstairs with her. Ron was right about Ginny. She really is quite outgoing. But whenever Harry's around, she's a completely different person. A shy, quiet girl who is prone to knocking things over. It's really weird to see. In fact, the moment Ginny sees Harry, she knocks her porridge bowl onto the floor with a clatter. She dives down to get it, and emerges with her face redder than her hair. harry pretends he didn't notice, sits down, and takes a piece of toast that Mrs. Weasley immediately offers him. What a gentleman.

"Letters from school," Mr. Weasley says, as he passes Ron and Harry their letters, "Dumbledore has your too, Harry - doesn't miss a trick, that man. You two've got them too," he adds, as Fred and George walk in, still in their pyjamas.

We're silent as we read our letters. There's the usual note that tells us to catch the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross on September 1st. There's also a list of school books. Nearly all of our school books are by Gilderoy Lockhart. The only one that isn't by him is  _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ by Miranda Goshawk. Fred, who seems to have finished looking at his own list, peers at mine over my shoulder.

"You've been told to get all Lockhart's books, too!" he says. "The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan - I bet it's a witch."

At this point, Fred catches his mother's eye and quickly busies himself with his marmalade. I take a large bite of toast in order to hold back my laughter at his expression.

"That lot won't come cheap," George points out, with a quick glance at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive..."

"Well, we'll manage," Mrs. Weasley says reassuringly, though she looks worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up Ginny's things second-hand."

I can't help but squirm a little in my seat at that comment. Luckily, I don't think anybody's noticed. I know that I could probably be able to buy school supplies for me and three of the Weasley's, at the least, with the money I have in my vault at Gringotts and still have quite a bit left. I want to offer so badly, but I know that they would blatantly refuse, no matter how much I insisted. Maybe if I'm convincing enough, they'll accept...

"Morning all. Lovely day," Percy says briskly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

He sits down on the only remaining chair, but leaps up immediately. He pulls out what I think is a moulting, grey feather duster. It takes me a second to realize that this moulting, grey feather duster is breathing and moving feebly. So, it turns out that it's the Weasley's own, Errol. In my defence, he does look very limp and weak for an owl.

Anyway, Errol has a letter from Hermione. Ron rips it open and reads it aloud. She talks about how if Ron's going to rescue Harry and I, she doesn't want him to do anything illegal, because that could get us into trouble, too. Se talks about how busy she's been with her school work ("How can she be, we're on holidays?" Ron says in disbelief) and that she's going to Diagon Alley next Wednesday to get all of her things. All in all, the letter is classic Hermione.

"Well, that fits nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too," Mrs. Weasley says, starting to clear the table. "What are you all up to today?"

Harry, Ron, Fred, George and I are planning to go up a hill to a small paddock that the Weasley's own. It's blocked by a bunch of trees so people in the village below can't see it. Which means, we can play Quidditch as long as we don't fly too high. I'm finally going to be able to play Quidditch. Of course, we can't use real Quidditch balls, as it would be awkward if they escape and fly over the village; instead, we're going to throw apples at each other to catch. We'll take turns using Harry's Nimbus 2000, which is by far the best; I'm going to be borrowing Charlie's old Cleansweep 5.

"Are you sure that's all right?" I ask Ron nervously, since Fred and George aren't the best at telling right from wrong.

"Yeah, he wouldn't mind," he says reassuringly.

"You should really stop worrying, Hazel," Fred says matter-of-factly, and I just shrug in reply.

Five minutes later, we're marching up the hill, broomsticks over our shoulders. We'd asked Percy if he'd wanted to come, but he refused and said that he's too busy. You know, I really haven't seen Percy that often so far. Only during mealtimes, really.

"I wish I knew what he was up to," Fred says, frowning. "He's not himself. His exam results came the day before you two did. Twelve OWLs and he hardly gloated at all. It's not like him."

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explains, seeing mine and Harry's confused looks, "Bill got twelve, too. If we're not careful, we'll have another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame."

I had also considered asking Ginny to come along, since she's quite the Quidditch fan herself, but I remembered that Harry's here, and since she's much more clumsy than she usually is around him, I don't want to risk her falling off her broom at the sight of him.

As we mount our brooms, George says, "Now, let's see how long it'll be until Hazel falls off her broom."

"Hahaha, very funny," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

We kick off into the air, and I can't help but feel a rush of happiness. I feel so free up in the air. Like nothing can stop me. Nor do I feel awkward or clumsy, like I usually do on the ground. If I had the opportunity to stay in the air forever, I might just take it. Out of nowhere, I see an apple flying over toward me. I'm just able to catch it.

"Don't lose your focus, Knight," Fred says, as though scolding me.

"That almost hit me!" I protest.

"That's Quidditch," he counters in a singsong voice. "There're worse injuries than an apple hitting you in the face if you don't focus."

Oh, so that's how he wants to play this? I see. Bring it, Fred. We divide into teams and begin to play. Fred and I are on separate teams. That's convenient to our situation. We start to play. It's a pretty intense match.

After a few hours, we go back inside. My team won more times than we lost, though it was very nearly tied. I smirk triumphantly at Fred as if to say, "You should have paid more attention."

"You know, you're not that bad," George tells me, after we put the brooms back in the shed, "you'd make a decent Chaser."

"Thanks," I say, turning slightly pink at his praise.

"Aw, look, she's blushing. How cute." Fred says, ruffling my hair and I roll my eyes in reply, "Anyway, George is right, you wouldn't be that bad."

"You know, since we're having try-outs for a Chaser since Alicia Spinnet left. You should try out!" Harry says encouragingly.

"Thanks, but the people who're going to try out probably have more skill in one hand than I do in my entire body," I say, shrugging and turning pinker, "I'd probably never make it."

"Well, I say you'd do pretty good." Ron pipes up.

"Well, maybe I'll change my mind later, but as for right now, I'd rather not try out," I say.

"All right," they all say in unison.

It's about an house after dinner now. I'm with Fred and George, in their room. We're just joking around about anything that comes up, including turning Percy's prefect badge to read "I'm a prat!". Sounds like a very interesting and productive thing to do. Id only we use magic to do it...

I roll up my sleeves so that it's halfway toward my elbow, since it's over-long and annoying me to no end. Fred seems to notice something odd.

"Hey. Hey, Hazel, what's that on your arm?" he says, pointing at my left arm.

I chance a half-glance at my left arm. Immediately, I want to smack myself for my stupidity. There's a large bruise from when my Uncle Gabriel hit me that night. That's why I've been wearing long sleeves! To cover it up! How could I be so stupid as to forget?

"Nothing, it's nothing," I say coolly, covering it up.

"No, it's not nothing. I definitely saw something," George says, who seems to have seen it before I covered my arm.

"I swear, it's nothing, it doesn't matter!" I insist, losing my cool slightly.

At this exact moment, Fred decides to walk over to me, grab my arm, and pull up the left sleeve of my shirt. Of course, when he grabbed my arm, he put pressure on the exact spot where another, slightly smaller bruise is. I cry out in pain before I'm able to stop myself. Fred looks at my bruises. Shock flits across his face, and then anger registers.

"This is what you call nothing?!" he says angrily.

"Er - well - actually-" I begin.

"If this is nothing I'd hate to see what you call something," George says, who'd come over to see what's going on.

"Who did this to you?" Fred demands.

"Well, er, it was, uh, actually, funny story, but it was-" I stutter. I'm not prepared for this. Not at all.

"Oh, just spit it out already, Hazel!" George says impatiently.

"My uncle," I whisper in a voice that's barely audible.

"Who?" Fred asks,

"My uncle," I choke out, louder this time.

"Why that little-" George begins, but I cut him off

"Please, just forget about it, it's nothing, really," I insist. "I've seen worse."

"On who?" Fred asks, eyes narrowed.

"On me," I admit quietly.

"You mean there's worse than - this!" George hisses, and on the words "this" he pulls up the sleeve of my right arm to find more bruises.

"Yes, actually," I reply. There's no use in hiding the truth any more. Not now, when they know the truth.

"How long has this been going on, exactly?" Fred asks.

"Ever since I was seven," I answer, looking down at the floor.

Fred and George speak at the same time, and I look up. They look close to exploding. "What?!" they exclaim.

"Ever since I was seven," I repeat in a louder voice, trying to lighten the mood by pretending I think that they hadn't heard. It doesn't work at all.

"And why are we just hearing about this now?" George says, in a voice of strained calm.

"Because, I'm not about to go around telling everybody that I meet that my uncle's an abusive pig!" I reply.

"You could have told us a bunch of time! We're not strangers! We're your friends!" Fred says, looking angry, and it's hard to tell whether that's directed at Uncle Gabriel or me.

"I know that. It's just that - that-" I mumble.

"That what?" Fred snaps.

"That it wouldn't matter if you knew, would it?! I'd still have to go back every summer until I'm of age, won't I?! There's no point in telling everyone!" I burst out.

"It doesn't matter? Of course it matters! You can't just keep things like that a secret!" George exclaims.

"Well, it was't a secret. I mean, somebody else knew, besides my aunt, uncle and cousin, I mean," I admit.

"Who?" George asks sharply.

"Harry," I reply simply.

"Oh, so you'll tell him but not us?" Fred says, looking vaguely annoyed.

"Well, like I said, my uncle started doing this when I was seven. Back then, I couldn't hold back my screaming, so of course, Harry, being my next-door neighbour, heard and demanded to know. He caught me in a way where there was no denying it, like you two just did." I explain, shrugging. "But, anyway, I want you two to swear that you're not going to tell anybody."

"Why?!" George says, looking frustrated and confused.

"Because, it won't help matters! I'll still have to go back every bloody summer until I'm of age! Your word that you won't tell anyone," I demand.

"But-" George protests.

"Your word," I reply impatiently.

"There's got to be some other way-" Fred insists.

"Your word," I repeat in a tone that's both desperate and stern.

"All right, fine-" George begins.

"-but on one condition." Fred finishes.

"What's that?" I ask suspiciously.

"If something like this  _ever_ happens again-" George begins.

"-you'll tell us as soon as possible." Fred concludes. Deal?"

I'm hesitant for a moment. It was bad enough talking about it for the first time. It'd be almost unbearable to discuss it a second time. But I know that there is no other way to get Fred and George to keep their mouths shut.

"Deal," I reply reluctantly.

We do our famous triple person handshake, and sit back down. Fred and George go right back to talking as if nothing had happened. It's odd how they can do that. I don't think I ever could do that if it's a topic like this. But maybe that's why I like hanging out with them so much. When something is done, it's done. They don't try to bring it up again, or act all awkward once it's over. I appreciate it. Because I don't want to have to talk about this for a long,  _long_ time.


	8. Diagon Alley

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Eight: Diagon Alley**

 

The following Wednesday, Mrs. Weasley wakes us up early. As soon as she leaves, I sink back under the covers, with a sigh of bliss at the warmth and comfort of the bed. When Ginny doesn't try and wake me, I know she's done the same. We stay in silence as we try to fall back to sleep until we hear a sudden knock on the door. In unison, we kick the blankets off of ourselves and leap to our feet.

"Girls, are you awake?" Mrs. Weasley's voice says through the door.

"Yes, Mum!" Ginny says quickly.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley!" I say at the same time.

We wait until Mrs. Weasley's footsteps fade into silence. We stand there for a few seconds in silence, staring at separate patches of the floor. Then, we look at each other. I know she's thinking the same thing that I am. That was  _way_ too close.

"We should probably get dressed," I say finally.

"Yeah, we should," Ginny agrees, and we get dressed quickly.

I make sure that Ginny can't see the scars and bruises on my arms, legs, and stomach. I don't want another incident like I had with Fred and George. I finish before Ginny, and wait, leaning against the door frame, tapping my foot impatiently, even though I'm not actually in any rush.

"Oh, don't get your wand in a knot, I'm coming!" she snaps.

"I know, I was just bored," I say, shrugging and laughing a little.

I can tell that she's rolling her eyes at me, even though I'm not looking at her. When she finally finishes, we head downstairs for breakfast. After si bacon sandwiches each, we pull on our coats. Mrs. Weasley takes a flower pot from the mantelpiece and peers inside.

"We're running low, Arthur," she sighs. "We'll have to buy more today... Ah, well, guests first. Harry, why don't you go first!"

She offers him the flowerpot. Harry stares around at all of the Weasleys staring at him expectantly, looking uncomfortable. He gives me a pleading look that says, "Help me!" I shrug, showing him that I'm just as clueless as he is right about now.

"W-what am I supposed to do?" Harry stutters nervously.

"He's never travelled by Floo Powder!" Ron says, as though he's just remembered. "Nor has Hazel. Sorry, I forgot."

"Floo Powder? That's what this is?" I say, stunned.

"What did you think this was-" George begins.

"-sand we've collected over the years?" Fred finishes.

"Yes, actually, I did." I say defensively, but looking at the floor nevertheless.

"Never?" Mr. Weasley says, looking astonished. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your stuff last year, then?"

"I went on the Underground," Harry explains.

"So did I,"

"Really?" Mr. Weasley asks eagerly. "Were there escapators? How exactly-"

"Not now, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley says impatiently. "Floor Powder is a lot quicker, dears, but goodness me, if you've never used it before-"

"They'll be all right, Mum," Fred says confidently. "Harry, watch us first."

He takes a pinch of powder from the pot, walks up to the fireplace, and throws the powder into the flames. With a roar, the flames turn emerald green, and rise higher than Fred, who casually steps in it, shouts "Diagon Alley!" and disappears.

"You must speak very clearly," says Mrs. Weasley, as George repeats what his twin brother had done seconds before, "And be sure to get out at the right grate..."

"The right what?" Harry asks.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, but as long as you speak very clearly-"

"Molly, don't fuss, they'll be fine," Mr. Weasley says.

"But if he got lost, how would we explain it to their aunts and uncles?" Mrs. Weasley frets.

"They wouldn't mind," I say reassuringly, "In fact, Dudley and Candy would think it'd be hilarious that we got stuck in a fireplace..."

"Well... all right... Harry, you go after Arthur and Hazel, go after him," she says, still looking worried. "Now, when you get in the fire, say where you're going."

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron adds.

"And keep your eyes shut," Mrs. Weasley continues, "the soot-"

"Don't fidget, or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace," Ron says.

"But don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see the others," Mrs. Weasley says.

How in the world do they think I'm going to remember all of that? I'll be lucky if I can remember one thing. Harry gives me a helpless glance, and I give him a look that says, "Just wing it. I suppose that's the best we can do." Harry takes a pinch of the powder, and walks to the fireplace. He takes a deep breath, and throws the powder into the flames. He steps forward.

"D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughs.

Uh oh. That doesn't sound very clear. Or, at least, not as clear as Fred, George or Mr. Weasley. Also, I think Mrs. Weasley meant for him to be quite a bit clearer. I exchange a nervous glance with Ron.

"Well, er, um, you next, Hazel," Mrs. Weasley says after a moment of silence, looking nervous.

"Right," I say, take a pinch of powder, and walk toward the fireplace.

I glance uncertainly at the remaining Weasleys, who all smile encouragingly at me. I turn back to the fireplace, and take a deep breath. I throw the powder into the flames. I step forward into the now emerald green flames. It feels like a warm breeze in here. I open my mouth, and immediately swallow a cloud of ash. I cough it out before I actually speak.

"Diagon A-alley," I say, trying to be as clear as possible.

It feels like I'm being sucked down a giant drain. I think I'm spinning really fast - the roar in my ears is deafening. Something hard knocks my elbow, and I remember to tuck my arms in like Ron said. All of a sudden, it feels like cold hands are slapping my face. I feel like I'm going to throw up my bacon sandwiches. Suddenly, I fall into a hardwood floor, flat on my face.

I hear somebody - two people, I think, and boys at that - laughing hysterically, but the sound doesn't really register in my brain for a few seconds. I roll onto my back, to see Mr. Weasley, Fred, and George. Fred and George are the ones laughing at me. I roll my eyes as Mr. Weasley helps me to my feet.

"Thanks, you two, I'm fine," I say, and look around.

I'm in the Leaky Cauldron. I can see the landlord taking orders off two witches. Suddenly, something registers in my mind. Somebody's missing. A short, skinny somebody. Somebody with messy black hair and green eyes.

"Wait, where's Harry?!" I exclaim.

"I dunno, he didn't come out," George says, settling down enough to look worried.

"We'll wait for the others to come and then we'll go look for him," Mr. Weasley says reassuringly.

I wait impatiently, my worry increasing with every second. When they're finally all there, Fred, George, Mr. Weasley and I explain the situation. Worry crosses all of their faces. We hurry out to Diagon Alley, and decide to start looking around the Alley.

I don't know how long we've been looking, until we see the massive form of Hagrid. Hagrid! Maybe he can help! I say this to the others, and Fred, George, Ron, Percy, Mr. Weasley and I start sprinting down the crowded street. As we come closer, two more, shorter figures come into view. Hermione. And. Harry! He's all right! I accelerate, and when I finally get to him, fling my arms around him.

"Harry! Blimey, I - we were so worried about you!" I say as I let go of him.

"See, Hazel, your boyfriend's all right," Fred pants, and I glower at him.

Fred calling Harry my boyfriend is much more different than Uncle Gabriel doing it. Much more annoying. I hate it so much more. I don't mind it as much when Uncle Gabriel says it. Don't ask why, because I couldn't answer you. It actually annoys me how it annoys me more. Uncle Gabriel does it to hurt my feelings and embarrass me, Fred's only teasing me. So why do I hate when Fred says it, more?

"Where did you come out?" Ron asks.

"Knockturn Alley," Hagrid replies grimly.

"Excellent," Fred and George say.

"We've never been allowed in," Ron says enviously.

"I should ruddy well think not," Hagrid growls as Mrs. Weasley comes running into view, swinging her purse in one hand, Ginny just clinging on in the other.

"Harry - oh dear - you could have been anywhere,"

Gasping for breath, she wiped the soot from Harry's clothes, as Mr. Weasley takes his glasses and repairs them with a tap of his wand. Hagrid bids us goodbye, once Mrs. Weasley finishes sobbing her thank-you's. I suppose I should have to thank him too. But, in all fairness, Mrs. Weasley said it for all of us. Harry tells us he saw Lucius Malfoy and Draco Malfoy at a shop called Borgin and Burkes, as we head for Gringotts.

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" Mr. Weasley asks, in a much sharper voice than usual.

"No, he was selling-"

"So, he's worried," Mr. Weasley says with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley bicker for a few seconds, until we walk into Gringotts, and Mr. Weasley sees Hermione's parents. Muggles. He looks like Christmas came early. But we must get to our vaults right now. Promising to meet Hermione later, we're led off to the underground carts.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the feeling of sickness that comes with riding on these carts. It's a little better, but not very great. I feel even worse when I see the Weasley vault. There's a small pile of sickles and just one galleon. Another desire to give them half of my money rises inside of me. Once we reach my vault, my face burning, I quickly scoop money into my pouch, and hurry back into the cart. I know Harry must feel the same was as I do when we reach his vault, which is loaded with wizard money as well.

Once back outside at Diagon Alley, we split up, but decide to meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour. Harry and I buy ice cream for us, Ron and Hermione, splitting the money equally. We wander through the street. Hermione has to drag Harry, Ron and I to get school supplies several times. We're allowed to go to Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, though. I stock up on a load of products, ignoring Hermione's disapproving looks.

An hour later, we head for Flourish and Blotts. We, it turns out, are not the only ones heading for the book shop. Not at all. We see a large crowd, looking eager to get inside. The reason why is written on a large banner hung up on the highest window. Gilderoy Lockhart is having a book signing for his new book  _Magical Me_ right now. Hermione is excited. I, on the other hand, couldn't care less. Yes, he's handsome and famous, but he sort of seems full of himself. But who knows, maybe Hermione is right about this bloke. I note that the crowd is mostly full of women Mrs. Weasley's age, and a harassed looking young man is trying to calm them all down. Poor bloke.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I fight our way through. The other have to help me several times because I'm usually in danger of falling or getting carried away by the impatient crowd. They seriously need to calm down... Once inside, we each grab a copy of  _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ and sneak up the line where the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione's parents are. Mrs. Weasley looks breathless and keeps patting her hair. So, Fred's right. She does fancy him. Quite a bit, it seems, too.

Gilderoy Lockhart comes slowly into view, sitting at a table which is surrounded by pictures of his face, all winking and flashing dazzling white teeth at the crowd. Lockhart's forget-me-not robes match his eyes exactly, and his hat is set at a jaunty angle on his wavy blonde hair. Well, he really is quite handsome. But don't you worry, I'm not about to go fawning over him like a lot of girls seem to. In fact, as I look around the shop, I realize that I seem to be the only girl that doesn't either look extremely excited or like she's about to faint. Anyhow, a short, irritable looking man is dancing around the overly crowded shop, taking pictures with a big black camera that emits puffs of purple smoke with every flash. He pushes Ron aside roughly, exclaiming about how this is for the  _Daily Prophet_ as though this mere fact should make Ron give him as much room as possible.

"Big deal," says a disgruntled Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer stepped on it.

Lockhart seems to have hear. His eyes find Ron. And then they find Harry. He stares at him for a few second. Then he leaps to his feet dramatically and practically shouts, "It can't be Harry Potter?"

The crowd parts, whispering excitedly to each other. Lockhart dives forward, and pulls Harry to the front. The crowd bursts into applause, and I just give him a helpless, "it's not that bad," look. He looks disbelievingly at me, as the photographer starts clicking away madly, wafting the purple smoke around the Weasleys, Grangers and I. Oh, lovely. Lockhart dives into a huge, dramatic speech. He seems like a complete prat, but I have to hand it to him, he knows how to win over a crowd.

"Poor boy," I murmur sadly, as I look and see how embarrassed Harry is, and Ron, Fred and George nod in agreement.

I stop listening until I hear the words, "... I will be taking the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheers, but I'm stunned. How? Isn't he too busy being an arrogant, world-famous prat to teach? Harry slips out of the limelight, clutching Lockhart's heavy looking books in his hands. Ron, Hermione and I get our own books, and then walk toward him. Once we get there, we see a most unpleasant person. Draco Malfoy. I had completely forgotten how much I hate him until now.

"Oh, it's you," Ron says, looking as though Malfoy is something disgusting he found on the bottom of his shoe. In all fairness, he practically is. "I bet you're surprise to see Harry here, eh?"

"Not as surprised I am to see you in a shop," Malfoy retorts, "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all of those."

Ron goes as red as Ginny, who's standing near Harry, blushing to the roots of her hair. He puts his books in the cauldron, and starts toward Malfoy, but Harry and I grab the back of his jacket. I'm about to say that it's not worth it when Mr. Weasley struggles over with Fred and George.

"Ron! What are you doing here?" Mr. Weasley asks. "It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

"Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley," a voice says.

It's a man. I turn and know immediately that this must be Malfoy's father. Lucius Malfoy, I believe his name is. It's not hard to tell that he's Malfoy's father. They've got the same white blonde hair and cold grey eyes that are the colour of storm clouds. He stands with his hand on his son's shoulder, sneering exactly the same way as the latter.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley replies curtly, nodding his head coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Mr. Malfoy drawls, "all those raids... I do hope they're paying you overtime."

He reaches into Ginny's cauldron and extracts a very battered, very old-looking copy of  _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. He sneers wider than ever, and it makes me feel slightly sick to my stomach.

"Obviously not," he says. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizards if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley flushes more than either of his children but calmly says, "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizards, Malfoy,"

"Clearly," Mr. Malfoy replies, his eyes straying to Hermione's parents, who are watching nervously, "The company you keep, Weasley... and I thought your family could sink no lower."

Apparently, Mr. Weasley has reached a breaking point. Maybe he's done with Lucius Malfoy insulting him and his family. Or maybe he crossed the line by insulting Muggles. Whatever the reason, Mr. Weasley throws himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking them backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy books fall around them, thundering over their heads. Fred and George cheer their father on, while the assistant tries, and fails, to stop the two men from fighting.

Hagrid appears out of nowhere in the sea of books. In an instant, he pulls Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley apart, who're both bearing minor injuries.

Mr. Malfoy is still holding Ginny's transfiguration book. He thrusts it into Ginny's hands, yelling about how it's the best her father can give her.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," Hagrid says. "Rotten to the core, the whole family, everyone knows that - no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter - bad blood, that's what it is - come on, now - let's get outta here.2

It looks lie the assistant wants to stop us from leaving, but Hagrid is so large, he seems to think better of it, so we head out into the street. The Grangers are shaking with fear while Mrs. Weasley is beside herself with fury.

"A fine example to set your children... brawling in public... what Gilderoy Lockhart must have thought!"

"He was pleased," Fred says reassuringly. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report... said it was all publicity."

"Frankly, I'm surprised that he managed to look away from a picture of himself long enough to do that," I mutter.

Fred grins at me and laughs a bit, but quickly stops. We're all rather subdued as we enter the Leaky Cauldron and bid Hermione and her family goodbye. I brace myself for the experience of going by Floo Powder once more. I definitely prefer going by train, no matter how much slower it is.


	9. Things Just Got Complicated

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Nine: Things Just Got Complicated**

 

The end of summer break comes much too quickly. While I'm excited to go back, this month at the Burrow was the best ever. I can't help but feel jealous of the Weasleys. This amazing life if their reality, while my reality is Privet Drive with my abusive uncle, and aunt, and cousin, and all of them hate me. How could I not be jealous?

Tomorrow we're going back. For dinner, Mrs. Weasley conjures up a delicious meal that almost makes my mouth water. Fred and George finish of the evening with a display of Filibusters Fireworks. They light the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounce around the room for a good half hour. Then we drink a mug of hot chocolate and march upstairs to bed. I'm just about to fall asleep when Ginny's voice snaps me back to my senses.

"Am I going to like Hogwarts?" she asks.

"Of course you are! There's a lot of school and homework, but it's still wicked!" I say.

"What's your favourite part about Hogwarts?" she inquires/

"Too many things to count," I mutter. "The food, being able to use magic whenever you want - as long as no teachers or prefects see you - being with friends..."

I roll over to my left side to see Ginny grinning broadly. "I'm so excited! I don't think I'll be able to sleep!"

"Well, I suggest you do, it's a pretty long train ride, and then there's the feast and the sorting and all that," I advise.

"But I doubt I'll be able to!" she whines.

"Just try," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Fine!" she huffs, pretending to look insulted.

"Brilliant!" I say cheekily.

I roll over once more, and fall asleep quickly. My dreams are a fast blue that I can hardly distinguish. When Mrs. Weasley wakes me up, I serious consider going back to sleep, but decide not to. Who's want to miss the train anyway?

Even though we're all awake at dawn, it seems that we don't have tome to do everything that we need to do. Mrs. Weasley dashes about in a bad mood, looking for socks and quills. People - mostly me and someone else - keep colliding on the staircases, half-dressed with bits of toast in hand. I trip and fall a few times and Mr. Weasley nearly breaks his neck when he trips over a stray chicken as he crosses the yard to get Ginny's trunk to the car.

Speaking of the car, I'm positively stumped right now. How in the world is that small Ford Anglia going to fit nine people, seven large trunks, three owls and a rat? But I soon find out that Mr. Weasley expanded the car magically on the inside to fir everybody comfortably. Of course. Mrs. Weasley comments on how clever Muggles are for making it so roomy on the inside while it's small on the outside. I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing our loud. Fred, who obviously knows about this extension, grins, looking like he's stifling a laugh as well.

Mr. Weasley starts up the engine, and we get going. I'm just wondering when I'm going to see this place again, when George says that he forgot his box of Filibusters Fireworks. We drive back. Five minutes later, we're back to get Fred's broomstick. We're about to reach the highway when Ginny suddenly shrieks that she forgot her diary. On the way back, I do a quick check-up on all my stuff once more. I have everything. When Ginny clambers back in, we're running very late, and tempers are running high. Mr. Weasley tries to convince Mrs. Weasley to let him fly the car, but she blatantly refuses.

We arrive at quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashes to get us trolleys and we hurry into the station. We make our way to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. One at a time, we go through the barrier. Only Harry, Ron and I are left now. Harry and Ron run toward the barrier first, and I follow a bit behind them. Their trolleys connect with the barrier. but instead of going straight through, in the process, manage to fall on my back. Midnight's cage falls to the ground and he lets out an indignant shriek. I get up, look around, and see that people are staring at us. Well, this is awkward.

A furious guard yells, "What in the blazes do you think you're doing?!"

"Erm, well you see, sir, my friends here, they've been given a bit of medication that makes them a little - um - unpredictable. I'm here to control them whenever they have their little - er - freak-outs, I suppose we can say," I invent wildly.

"Well, try a little harder, then!" he says.

"Will do, sir!" I say, and turn to Harry and Ron. They look annoyed with me.

"We're on medicine that makes us unpredictable?!" Harry partly whispers, partly yells.

"Well, what else could I say?!" I snap.

"Maybe that we just lost control of the trolley?" Ron suggests, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I suppose that would've worked too," I mutter, "but anyway, that doesn't matter, the past is the past. Why can't you guys get through?"

"I dunno," Ron says, and looks wildly around. People are still watching us. Don't they have lives to get back to, instead of watching ours? "We're going to miss the train. I don't know why the gateway sealed itself."

I look up at the clock, and feel a pang in my stomach. Ten seconds left... nine seconds... eight seconds... Harry pushed his trolley against the barrier with all his might, but it remains solid. Three seconds.. two seconds... one second. The clock strikes eleven. It's gone. It's left without us. I can't believe it. I'm in a numb state that drowns out all sound. I'm brought back to earth by Harry, who's waving a hand in front of my face.

"Hazel!" he nearly yells.

"What?" I say, jumping slightly. "What's going on?"

"We'll explain on the way, follow us," Ron says, and we march through the crowd of curious Muggles onto the street, Harry and Ron explaining their plan.

Their plan is the most mental thing in the world! Flying the car to Hogwarts! There's so many things wrong with that plan! I protest, but Harry and Ron counter all of my arguments, and insist that it's the only way. I feel like there is, in fact, another way, but I just can't place it. When I tell them this, they say that we have no time, and that it basically means that I have nothing. Since I can't argue, I grudgingly agree to their plan. Which I still think is insane.

We clamber into the car. After checking that nobody's there, Ron pushes a tiny silver button on the dashboard and we disappear. Not literally, of course, the car is still here. But, we're completely invisible, along with the car. I can feel the seat below me, could hear the engine vibrating, and feel my hands fidgeting with one another, but for all I can see, I'm a pair of eyeballs floating in mid-air.

We start to fly, the dirty buildings fall away, dropping out of sight as the car - and Harry, Ron and I - rise higher and higher. In seconds, all of London lay below us, glittering and smoking below us. There's a popping noise, and the car - and harry, Ron and the rest of my body - reappear. We try pressing the button again, but it's no good. It's stopped working.

"Hold on!" Ron yells, stomps on the accelerator, and we shoot toward the clouds, where everything is grey and foggy.

"Now what?!" Harry says, blinking around at the solid mass of clouds that are pressing in on us from all sides.

"We need to see the train to see which direction to go in," Ron replies.

"Dip down again - but quickly and don't go too low, so that no Muggles see us," I say nervously. In case you're wondering, this was - and still is - one of the worries I had.

We drop beneath the clouds, and twist around in our seats, squinting at the ground in an attempt to find the scarlet steam engine that is the Hogwarts Express. I can't find it, but Harry does. But then again, he is the youngest Seeker in a century.

"Due north," Ron notes. "All right, we'll check every half hour or so - hold on."

We burst through the clouds and into a blaze of sunlight. It's a completely different world up here. A brilliant one. The wheels of the car skims the sea of fluffy clouds, the sky a bright, endless blue under the blindingly white sun.

"Now all we've got to worry about are air-planes," Ron comments.

We exchange glances, and burst out laughing. Once we start, we can't stop. I manage to stop to draw breath, only to burst out laughing again. Once we finally stop, we look around at the new world around us. It's like an amazing dream. This, in my opinion, is  _the_ way to travel. Past swirls of clouds, in a car full of hot, bright sunshine, with a pack of fat, delicious toffee in the glove compartment, and, best of all, imagining Fred and George's jealous faces as we land smoothly and spectacularly on the sweeping lawn in front of the castle. We make regular checks on the train, and each check-up provides a different view.

Though, after several uneventful hours, some of the fun starts to wear off. The toffee ends up making me extremely thirsty and there's absolutely nothing to drink in the car. We'd all taken off our sweaters long ago, but my shirt still sticks to the back of my seat, and I'm lucky enough to find a scrunchy in my trunk, and tie my long hair into a ponytail. I've completely lost interest in the shapes of the clouds, and now I'm thinking longingly of the train miles below us, where you could buy an ice cold pumpkin juice from the lunch trolley. Why was the barrier sealed?

"Can't be much farther now," Ron croaks. "Ready for another check on the train?"

It's still there miles below us. We go upwards again, but as we do, the engine begins to whine. We exchange nervous glances. That isn't good. But we pretend that we can't hear the noises grow louder and louder as the sky grows darker. Stars start appearing all around us, and as it turns colder, I pull my sweater back on and take out the ponytail in my hair, because I'm convinced I look stupid with it. Not that it really matters, but I prefer not to look stupid. The wind-shield wipers start to wave feebly, as though in protest.

Finally, we see the giant castle. I could laugh from happiness and relief. In fact, I'm about to when the car starts to shudder and begins losing speed. Oh, no. The engine groans and narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the hood. That  _really_ isn't good. The car gives a horrible wobble. Glancing out the window, I see the smooth, glassy surface of the lake a mile below. Ron's knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. The car wobbles a little and I can tell that I've paled slightly.

Fortunately, we make it over the lake, and the castle is right ahead. Ron puts his foot down. But there's a loud clunk, a sputter and the engine dies all together.

"Uh oh," Ron says in the silence.

And we start falling, gathering speed, heading straight for the castle wall. Ron swings the steering wheel wildly, and we miss the castle by inches. We soar over the dark greenhouses, then the vegetable patch, and over the black lawns, losing height all the while. Ron gives up on the steering wheel completely, and pulls out his wand, whacking the wind-shield and the dashboard, but we're still plummeting toward the ground.

"MIND THAT TREE!" Harry yells suddenly, lunging for the steering wheel, but it't too late.

CRASH! With an ear-splitting crunch of metal on wood, we hit the thick trunk and fall to the ground with a jolt. Hedwig and Midnight are shrieking, but I'm hardly away of it. My head is spinning, and I wouldn't be surprised if I've gotten some more bruises. Ron lets out a low, despairing groan from beside me.

"My wand," he groans, "look at my wand!"

It's been snapped, almost into two halves. The only thing that kept the two parts together were a few, feeble looking splinters. I wonder if they can fix it in the castle. I doubt they'll be able to, but before I can think further about this, something hits the side of the car with the force of a charging bull, sending Harry lurching into me, and me into Ron. Just as soon, an equally heavy blow hits the roof of the car.

"What the-" I begin.

Ron gasps, staring through the wind-shield, and I look just in time to see a branch as thick as a python smash into it. The tree we crashed into is attacking us. Of course. Of all the trees we could hit, we hit the one that can hit back. More and more blows hit the car, and we're sitting in the car with no means to escape. We're done for! Suddenly, the floor of the car vibrates; the engine had restarted. The car shoots backwards, and the tree gives one last attempt to kill us as we speed out of reach. Ha ha! You didn't kill us, crazy attacking tree!

"That," Ron breathes, "was close. Well done, car-"

But it seems that the car has reached a breaking point. The doors fly open, and the park bench type of seat is chopping up into two seats, and the part that Ron and I share, gets tipped sideways. Next thing I know, I'm on top of something. I look down and see that it's Ron.

"Sorry about that, Ronald," I say, getting up to my feet and helping him up, "but that car is quite unpredictable."

We turn back to the car, and see that it ejected our luggage as well. Hedwig and Midnight's cages fall to the ground and burst open, and the two owls fly away without a backwards glance. Then the dented, scratched, and steaming car drove away into the forest, its rear lights blinking angrily. I look around at the damage done. All in all, it isn't the triumphant landing I had pictured while we were on the way here. We're stiff, cold and bruised. We seize our trunks and start our way up the grassy slope toward the great oak front doors.

"I think the feast's already started," Ron mutters, dropping his trunk at the front steps and hurrying over to the brightly lit window. "Hey - Harry, Hazel - come and look - it's the Sorting!"

Harry and I hurry over, and along with Ron, we peer into the Great Hall. It's the same as ever. The innumerable amount of candles hovering in mid-air above the tables, the golden plates and goblets, and the bewitched ceiling that always showed the sky outside. Through the forest of black, pointed hats, I can see the line of scared looking first years filling into the Hall. Ginny stands out vividly with her bright red hair. Seeing her look so pale and nervous reminds me of when I was sorted. Was it really one year ago? It feels like it was years ago. So much has happened since then.

"Hang on..." Harry mutters, "there's an empty chair at the staff table... where's Snape?"

To be completely honest, I'm not all that concerned about where he is. Snape is my least favourite teacher in the history of ever. And I've had some pretty horrible ones when I went to my Muggle schools. He's cruel, sarcastic and disliked by every student except those that are in his own house, since he favours them in the most unfair way. He completely ruined Potions class for me. I was very excited for it. Now I always dread my Potions classes.

"Maybe he's ill!" Ron says hopefully.

"What do you think he's got? Some disease you get when your hair's too greasy?" I say, unable to help myself. Harry and Ron both laugh.

"Maybe he's left," Harry adds, "because he missed out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job again!"

"Or maybe he's been sacked!" Ron says enthusiastically. "I mean, everyone hates him-"

"Or maybe," a very cold voice says from right behind us, "he's waiting to see why you three didn't arrive on the school train."

I jump, and put my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. People really need to stop sneaking up on me. I spin around, and what I see gives me more of a heart attack than someone sneaking up on me ever did.


	10. Another Punishment

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Ten: Another Punishment**

 

There, in his black robes that ripple in the breeze, stands Professor Severus Snape. A thin man, with sallow skin, a hooked nose, and greasy black hair that falls around his shoulders. Right now, he's smiling in a way that quite clearly says that we're in trouble.

"Follow me," Snape says.

Not daring to even look at each other, we follow Snape up the steps and into the Entrance Hall. A delicious smell of food was wafting from the Great Hall, but I shake my head. I need to focus. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to find us an excuse that can just get us to not be expelled. I'm pretty sure Snape didn't see the car. We can deny the fact that we weren't on the train. But we'll need somebody who can back us up on this fact. I think of Hermione. She'd understand the situation, but would she do nothing and think we deserve expulsion? No. She wouldn't do that. She cares about rules, yes, but not  _that_ much. So, if she were to cover for us, would she be convincing enough? Or would Snape see right through her and get her into trouble, as well. Hermione isn't the best at lying, and I'm sometimes under the impression that he can read minds.

My next thought is of Fred and George. They, without the slightest bit of doubt, would cover for us without fully understanding the situation. And they must be pretty convincing liars, since they must have had to lie a fair few times to keep themselves out of  _serious_ trouble. But there's still that mind-reading part of Snape that makes me uneasy. Other than those three, I can't think of anybody else who'd be able to, and willing, help us get out of expulsion at the moment. And the only way to go is to insist that we were, in fact, on the train, because I doubt that Snape would believe the truth. I can already hear the sarcastic remark that would come out of his mouth if we told him.

I'm brought back to reality by Snape saying, "In!"

Shivering, we enter his office. The shadowy walls are lined with shelves of glass jars, each of them containing slimy, revolting looking things. The fireplace is empty and dark, making the room seem colder than it really is. Snape closes the door, and I feel like he's locking us in so that nobody can hear our screams. Hey, Snape gives off that kind of impression sometimes. He turns to face us.

"So," he says softly, "the train isn't good enough for famous Harry Potter and his faithful sidekicks Weasley and Knight. Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we?"

"No, sir, it was the barrier at King's Cross, it-" Harry begins.

"Silence!" Snape hisses. "What have you done with the car?"

Ron gulps and I sigh. So much for my best plan. Not to mention, my only plan at the moment. And I doubt I'm going to be able to think of a five star plan in the next couple of second. A moment later, he pulls out the  _Evening Prophet_.

"You were seen," he hisses, then shows us the headline:  **FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES.** My heart sinks. He starts to read aloud: "Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower... at noon, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing... Mr. Angus Fleet of Peebles reported to the police... six or seven Muggles in all... I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office?" he adds to Ron, smiling even more nastily. "Dear, dear... his own son."

Right now, I wish I was back at that weird tree being hit all over by its many branches. If anyone finds out that Mr. Weasley bewitched that car, he'd be in so much trouble... why didn't I think of that?

"I noticed, in my search of the grounds, that considerable damage has been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow," Snape adds.

"That tree did more damage to us than we-" Ron blurts out.

"Silence!" Snape snaps, "Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. Wait here."

Harry, Ron and I exchange nervous glances. They're both pale, and I know that I'm probably the same. I'm no longer hungry and thirsty. Now I'm just slightly sick. I try not to look at any of the slimy things in the jars around the room, because I just know I'll vomit if I do. Snape's off fetching people with the power to expel us... surely that's Professor McGonagall... If so, we're hardly any better off. She may be fairer than Snape, but she is still extremely strict. Ten long minutes later, Snape returns with none other than McGonagall. I have seen her angry on several occasions, but wither I had never seen her so mad, or I've simply forgotten how thin her lips could go... when she raises her wand, Harry, Ron and I flinch, but she merely points it at the empty fireplace and a fire erupts.

"Sit," she says promptly, and we back into armchairs by the fire. "Explain," she adds, her glasses glinting ominously.

Ron launches into a full recount of what happened, starting at when the barrier refused to let us go through. He finishes by saying, "-so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn't get through."

"Why didn't you contact us with an owl? I believe you  _both_ have an owl," McGonagall says coldly to Harry and I. Mostly me, because she was there when I got Midnight.

I gape at her in utter disbelief. An owl. An owl! Why didn't we think of that?! That's what was on the tip of my tongue! How could I not think of that! It seems like the obvious thing to do in our situation. My own stupidity surprises me at times...

"I- I didn't think-" Harry stutters.

"That," McGonagall says, "is obvious."

There's a knock on the door, and Snape, looking happier than I would've thought possible, answers the door. To make things worse, the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, walks into the room, looking uncharacteristically grave. He stares at us, and maybe I'm imagining things, but I think he looks disappointed. All right, why don't they just throw us back into the Whomping Willow and end this torture, already? There's a long silence.

Then, Dumbledore says, "Please explain why you did this?"

Why couldn't he just have shouted? It would have been so much easier to bear. I'm used to people shouting at me all day. But I despise - absolutely can't stand - when somebody is completely calm with me, yet there is unmistakable disappointment in their voice. As if they expected more from me. I prefer it when people yell. Harry explains this time, looking at his knees, rather than at Dumbledore. I don't blame him. I'd do the same.

"We'll go and get our stuff," Ron says in a hopeless sort of voice. I sigh, and get ready to go back to get my stuff. It's over. We're about to be expelled.

"What're you talking about, Weasley?" barks Professor McGonagall.

"Well, you're about to expel us, aren't you?" I say, confused.

"Not today, Ms. Knight," Dumbledore says. "But I must impress on the three of you, the seriousness of what you've done. I will be writing to your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you ever do something like that again, I will have no other choice but to expel you."

Snape looks like how I would look if Christmas was cancelled. he clears his throat and says, "Professor Dumbledore, these children have flouted the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree - surely acts of this nature-"

"It will be the decision of Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore says calmly, "they are in her House and are therefore her responsibility." he turns to Professor McGonagall. "I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I've got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there's a delicious looking custard tart that I wish to sample-"

Snape shoots Harry, Ron and I a look of pure venom, before sweeping out of the room, leaving us alone with Professor McGonagall, who still looks rather furious with us. She advised Ron and I to go to the hospital wing, since we're both bleeding, but we both dismiss the idea, since neither of us are bleeding too much.

"Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted-" Ron says, hastily wiping his cut with his sleeve.

"The Sorting Ceremony is over," McGonagall says. "You sister is in Gryffindor as well."

"Oh, good," Ron mumbles.

"And speaking of Gryffindor," McGonagall begins sharply.

"Professor, when we flew the car, term hadn't started yet, so Gryffindor shouldn't have any points taken away, should it?" Harry cuts in, watching her anxiously.

That was rather bold of Harry to do, considering the situation. I glance up at her to see her reaction to this. Harry is technically right, and the way he put it, it would seem a little unfair to take away points. But, at the same time, McGonagall does seem a little testy with us at the moment, so she could always lose her temper. McGonagall gives him a piercing look, but I think she almost smiles. At least, her mouth looks less thin now.

"I will not take points from Gryffindor," she says, and my heart soars, "but you will all get a detention."

That's it? One detention and we're off the hook? That's better than anything I dared hope for! I was expecting a couple months of detention, not just one! And besides, it's not like I wasn't going to get a couple of detentions this year, anyway. As for Dumbledore writing to the Martins, well, that doesn't really affect me in the slightest. The only thing that'll happen is that they'll be disappointed that the Whomping Willow didn't kill me.

McGonagall raises her wand and points it at Snape's desk. At once, a platter full of sandwiches, three silver goblets, and a jug of iced pumpkin juice appear with a slight popping sound. The sight of the food makes me remember how hungry and thirsty I am.

"You will eat here and go straight up to your dormitory," she says, "I must also return to the feast."

When the door closes behind her, I allow myself to break out into a wide grin. I can't even describe how relieved I am. Ron lets out a long, low whistle/

"I thought we'd had it," he says, grabbing a sandwich.

"So did I, " Harry agrees, taking one too.

"Pshh, I knew all along that we'd be all right," I say in mock-arrogance, and grab a sandwich for myself.

"Oh, please, you looked like they were sentencing you to death!" Ron says, laughing.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," I say.

"Can you believe our luck, though?" Ron says thickly, changing the subject through the mouth full of chicken and ham, "Fred and George must've flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw them," he takes another huge bit, and adds, "Why couldn't we get through the barrier?"

Harry shrugs and says, "We're just going to have to watch our step from now on..." he takes a gulp of pumpkin juice, "wish we could've gone up to the feast..."

"She didn't want us showing off," Ron says matter-of-factly. "Didn't want people to think it was clever, arriving by flying car."

The sandwiches keep refilling themselves. Once we've eaten as many sandwiches as we possibly could, we rise and leave the office, taking the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was very quiet. I suppose the feast is over now. At last, we reach the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Password?" she asks.

"Um..." I say.

We didn't know the password, since McGonagall didn't tell us, and we didn't meet any Gryffindor prefect who may help. Help comes almost immediately, though. We hear hurrying feet, and turn to see Hermione dashing up the corridor.

"There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumours - someone said that you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car!"

"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assures her.

"You mean you did fly here?" Hermione says, sounding as severe as McGonagall.

"Skip the lecture and tell us the new password," Ron says impatiently.

"It's 'wattlebird' but that's not the point-" Hermione says, but her words are cut short.

By what, you may be asking? By a storm of applause that sounded as soon as the portrait swung open. It seems that everyone in Gryffindor is awake right now, waiting for us to arrive. Arms reach out to pull Harry, Ron and I through, leaving Hermione to scramble in behind us.

"Brilliant!" yells Lee Jordan, "Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years!"

"Good for you," a fifth year that I've never spoken to in my life says, while people keep patting us on the back as if we've just won a marathon.

Fred and George push through the crowd to get to the front, and say in unison. "Why couldn't we come in the car, eh?"

"Well, next time we have the opportunity to get beat up by a tree, I'll be sure to call you, then," I mutter to Ron and Harry, and they both laugh.

Ron's grinning an embarrassed smile, and I smile sheepishly as well. Harry, on the other hand, seems to notice something horrible. He nudges Ron and I, and nods in Percy's direction. I understand at once. I don't need a lecture right now.

"Well, I'm really tired," I say, pretending to yawn. "Nearly getting expelled really takes the energy out of you. I reckon I'm going to go straight to sleep."

"Yeah, I think we should, too," Ron adds, gesturing to Harry, and they push their way to the boys' dormitories.

I make my own way through the crowded common rooms, insisting to protesting people that I really must get to bed, and through the door to the girls' dormitories. I walk up the spiral staircase, and burst through the door labelled "Second years". I beam at the familiar room, with the four four-poster beds which had red velvet curtains, and the high narrow windows. My trunk has been brought up for me, and is sitting on the end of my bed. I sigh happily, and start digging through my trunk for some pyjamas.

I've just crawled into bed, and am about to pull the covers around me, when Hermione storms into the room, wearing a scowl worse than Percy's. Before I can even say hello, she dives into a long lecture about how what I did was wrong and that I don't deserve any of the attention and praise that I'm getting right now. I sigh.

"Hermione, skip the lecture. Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore already took care of that," I snap, after about ten minutes of her lecturing, "and if you think I'm glad that I was nearly killed by a tree and expelled, then, for once, you're actually mistaken."

She looks furious at me, but lets the subject drop. Thank God. But I know it isn't for long. It's probably just because she wants to go to sleep herself. She'll probably dive back into one tomorrow morning. Oh, well, I'll deal with that when it happens. I pull the curtains around me, and realize just how tired I actually am. I fall asleep quickly.


	11. The First Day Wasn't That Great

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Eleven: The First Day Wasn't That Great**

 

The next morning, Hermione still looks angry at me. Well, that was pretty much expected, so I'm not going to act all surprised about it.

"Morning," she says stiffly.

I wave and smile tentatively. We dress in our uniforms, and head downstairs for breakfast. Hermione opens a book, props it against a milk jug, and begins reading. I consider commenting that she should be eating during breakfast, but decide not to since she's mad enough at me right now. Once Harry and Ron are across from us, Hermione gives them the same cold greeting. Though Neville Longbottom and I both greet them cheerfully.

"Mail's due any minute," Neville says conversationally. "I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot."

I almost laugh at that. Neville has the worst memory of everyone I've ever met. Even worse than me. I'm halfway done my porridge, when, sure enough, over one hundred owls stream inside. A big, lumpy parcel lands and bounces off Neville's head, and something grey and lumpy falls into Hermione's jug, spraying us all with milk and feathers. Oh, lovely.

"Errol!" Ron exclaims, as I clean milk and feathers off of myself. Errol slumps, unconscious, onto the table, its legs in the air because Ron pulled him out by his feet and a dark red letter in his beak. "Oh, no."

"It's all right, he's still alive," Hermione assures him, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

"It's not that - it's that," Ron says, pointing at the red envelope.

It looks like a perfectly ordinary letter, in my opinion, but both Neville and Ron are looking at it in utter horror, as though expecting it to explode. This is really odd to see.

"What's the matter?" I say finally.

"She's - she's sent me a Howler," Ron replies faintly.

"You'd better open it, Ron," Neville advises in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My Gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and-" he gulps, looking terrified, "-it was horrible."

I look from the two petrified faces, to the envelope called a Howler. I still don't see what's so bad about it. I get that it's some sort of punishment, but why? I exchange clueless glances with Harry.

"What's a Howler?" he asks.

But Ron's attention is focused solely on the envelope, which begins to smoke at the corners. Neville urges him to just open the letter, insisting that it'll be all over in a couple of minutes. Ron stretches out a shaking hand, eases the letter out of Errol's beaks, and slit it open, while Neville sticks his fingers in his ears. Now I'm really confused. Why's Neville doing that? A split second later, I understand. I think for a second that the envelope exploded, because a roar of a sound fills the Hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"-STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF THEY EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT UNTIL I GET A HOLD OF YOU. I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED AND TO THINK ABOUT WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAT IT WAS GONE-"

It's Mrs. Weasley's voice, magnified to sound one hundred times louder than it usually is. Her voice makes the spoons and plates rattle on the table, and the noise echoes deafeningly around the Hall. People all around the Hall were swivelling in their seats to find out who had received the Howler, and Ron sinks so low in his seat that all you can see is his crimson forehead. Poor bloke.

"-LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME. WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU, HARRY AND HAZEL ALL COULD HAVE DIED-"

There it is. I was wondering when Harry and I would be brought into the whole situation. I try very hard to pretend that I can't hear the voice that's very nearly shattering my eardrums.

"-ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED - YOUR FATHER'S NOW FACING AN ENQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LIME, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME!"

A ringing silence follows the end of her rant. The red envelope, which had dropped out of Ron's hand, burst into flames and curls into ashes. Harry, Ron and I sit, stunned, as though a tidal wave just passed through us. A few people laughed, and gradually, the bubble of talk begins again. Hermione closes her book and looks at the only bit of Ron that's still visible. The top of his bright red head.

"Well, I don't know what you expected, but you-"

Doesn't Hermione know that this isn't the time for a lecture? The poor boy's just been embarrassed in front of the entire school. Now's not really the time to say he deserved it.

"Don't tell me I deserved it," Ron snaps.

I push what remains of my porridge away, my insides burning with guilt. Mr. Weasley's facing an enquiry at work... after all they had done for me this summer... but I have no time to spend being guilty, for McGonagall is moving along the Gryffindor table, passing out timetables. We have Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I leave the castle together. The only good thing that Howler had done is make Hermione think we've been punished enough, so she's perfectly friendly now. We've just made it to the greenhouses where the rest of the class was standing, when Professor Sprout comes striding into view, along with Gilderoy Lockhart. I wonder what that's about. Apparently, Lockhart was showing her how to correctly doctor a Whomping Willow. Doubt it. Sprout looks disgruntled as she leads us to greenhouse three.

Before we enter, Lockhart stops and asks if he can have a word with Harry. Sprout looks like she minds very, very much, but Lockhart whisks him away before she can say anything. I wonder what that's all about... I just shrug, and enter the greenhouse with Ron and Hermione. We're working with Mandrake today. Interesting.

Harry finally comes in and sits next to me just as Sprout asks, "We'll be re-potting the Mandrakes today. Now, can anyone tell me the properties of the Mandrakes?"

To absolutely nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand is the first in the air. It takes me a while to remember. It's used to return people who've been cursed or transfigured. Right? I know I'm right when Hermione says my answer, but in fancier words.

"Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," Sprout says. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"

I hesitate for a second, gathering my thoughts, then raise my hand. Sprout sees my hand and says, "Ms. Knight?"

"The cry of a Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it... right?" I say.

"Right. Another ten points to Gryffindor," Sprout says, nodding. "Now, the Mandrake we have here are still very young."

She points to a row of deep trays as she speaks, and we all shuffle forward for a better look. One hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in colour, were growing in rows. They look completely remarkable, and I wouldn't normally give them a second glance.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," orders Sprout.

We all scramble to get a pair that isn't pink and fluffy. I'm lucky enough to get a black pair that's not all fluffy. When Sprout tells us to, we all put on our earmuffs. They shut out sound completely. Sprout puts on a pair of earmuffs herself, and grasps one of the plants firmly, and pulls hard. I let out a gasp I can't hear. I've read about Mandrakes, but I didn't know they'd be so ugly. A small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby shoots out of the pot. He has pale green skin, and even though I can't hear him, I can tell he's bawling loudly. Sprout plunges it into another pot, covers it with dark, damp compost, and signals for us to remove our earmuffs.

We set to work as soon as she gives us instructions. We're joined at our tray by a Muggle-born Hufflepuff boy names Justin Finch-Fletchley, since it's five to a tray. By the end of the class, we're all sweaty, aching and covering in soil. We all traipse back up to the castle to wash up, then the other Gryffindors head for Transfiguration.

Transfiguration is extremely difficult. We're supposed to be turning beetles into buttons, and I'm not very successful. Ron's work is even worse, because of his wand, which he had tried patching up with Spellotape. Anyway, by the end of class, I've only managed to transfigure two or three beetles, while Hermione has a handful of them.

Since Ron's looking in a bad mood at Hermione showing us her buttons, harry hastily asks, "What've we got this afternoon?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione answers at once.

"Why," Ron demands, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all of Lockhart's lessons in hearts?"

Hermione snatches up the schedule back, blushing furiously. So she fancies Lockhart, too. Of course. We finish lunch early, so we go out into the courtyard. Hermione sits down on a stone step and begins reading. Harry, Ron and I have an intense discussion about Quidditch, until Harry looks up. I follow his gaze to see that a small, mousy-haired boy is watching us. Or, should I say, watching Harry. He's clutching what looks to be an ordinary Muggle camera in his hands, and the moment he sees that Harry sees him, he goes bright red.

"All right, Harry? I'm- I'm Colin Creevey," he says breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward, "I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think- would it be all right if- can I have a picture with you?" he finishes, holding up his camera hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry says blankly.

"So I can prove I met you," Colin says eagerly. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got the lightning bold scar on your forehead-" his eyes rakes Harry's forehead, "-and a boy in my dormitory told me if I develop the films in the right position, they'll move! It's amazing here, isn't it? I never knew all that odd stuff I could do was magic until I got my letter. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either! So I'm taking him loads of pictures to send home. And it'd be really great if you-" he looks imploringly at Harry, "-maybe your friend could take a picture and I could stand next to you? And then, you could sign it?"

"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"

Malfoy comes striding into view, flanked by his own personal bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle. Smirking, he announces, "EVERYONE LINE UP! HARRY POTTER'S GIVING OUT SIGNED PHOTOS!"

"No, I'm not," Harry says angrily, fists clenched, "shut up, Malfoy!"

"You're just jealous!" Colin pipes up.

"Jealous?" Malfoy says, half the courtyard listening. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar across my forehead, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."

"You did last year when you wanted him to be your friend," I retort.

"You're one to talk!" Malfoy snaps at me. "I bet you kiss the ground Potter walks on. You'd give anything for a signed photo!"

"Eat slugs, Malfoy," Ron growls.

"Be careful, Weasley," Malfoy sneers. "You don't want to get into trouble or your Mommy'll come and take you away," he puts on a horrible impression of Mrs. Weasley's voice, "If you put another toe out of line-"

A bunch of Slytherin Fifth years nearly laugh loudly. I mouth colourful words at them. They glare at me. I glower back at them with equal hatred.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, too, Potter," Malfoy says, smirking. "It'd be worth more than his parents whole house-"

Ron whips out his wand, but Hermione stops him. I follow her gaze and see Gilderoy Lockhart coming, his turquoise robes whipping in the breeze.

"What's all this, what's all this?" he says jauntily. "Who's giving out signed photos?"

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but Lockhart throws his arm around him and says, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry! Come on then, Mr. Creevey. A double portrait, you can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it."

Colin takes a photo just as the bell rings. Harry gives every sign of wanting to leave, but Lockhart steers him away. Poor boy. He really doesn't want or deserve any of this. Hermione, Ron and I walk in the classroom, and sit next to Harry at the back of the room.

"You could have fried an egg on your face," Ron tells Harry. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

"Shut up," Harry snaps.

Once the whole class is seated, Lockhart clears his throat loudly, and the room falls silent. He reaches forward, grabs Neville's copy of  _Travels with Trolls_ and holds it up to show a picture of his own winking and smiling face.

"Me!" he says, pointing at the picture and winking himself, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence league, and five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waits for us to laugh. Nobody does. A few people smile weakly. I notice that Hermione is a part of that number of people. Lockhart quickly changes the subject.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books -  well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about - just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in-"

He hands out test papers, and we set to work. I look at the questions. They're all about Lockhart. Fifty-four questions. All about Gilderoy Lockhart. Is this guy for real? And I thought Percy needed a reality check. He's nothing compared to this guy. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to know when his birthday is and what his idea gift is? I guess I'm just going to have to wing it. I sigh, and start writing down random answers. Half an hour later, Lockhart collects the papers, and rifles through them at the front of the class.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in Year With the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wandering with Werewolves more carefully - I clearly state that my ideal gift would be harmony between magical and non-magical communities - but I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogdeds Old Firewhiskey!"

He gives another wink. Ron's staring at him in utter disbelief. Dean and Seamus, on the other hand, are shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, however, is listening with rapt attention. I roll my eyes pointedly at her, but nobody but Harry seems to notice.

"... but Ms. Granger knows my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of haircare potions - good girl! In fact-" he adds, flipping over her paper, "-full marks! Where's Ms. Granger?"

When Hermione raises a trembling hand, Lockhart beams and says, "Excellent! Quite excellent! Take ten points to Gryffindor. And so to business-"

He lifts a large cage with a large sheet over it from under his desk. I wonder what's in these. But I suppose we're about to find out what it is. Probably something stupid, since this is Lockhart.

"Now be warned! I'm here to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room! Know only that no harm can be done to you whilst I am here. All I ask is for you not to scream!"

I straighten up in my seat a little in spite of myself. Lockhart places a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus have stopped laughing, and Neville's cowering in his seat. The class holds its breath, and Lockhart rips off the cover.

"Yes," he whispers dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish Pixies!"

Seamus lets out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.  I look closely at the pixies. They're electric blue and around ten inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill that I wish I had those earmuffs from Herbology again. Before I know what's going on, Lockhart opens the cage door.

It's complete chaos. The pixies shoot everywhere like rockets. A couple grab Neville by his ears and start to lift him from the ground. A lot of them went straight for the windows, shattering the back row with glass. The rest proceed to wreck as much havoc and chaos as possible. Soon, half the class is sheltered under desks, and Neville is swinging from a chandelier from the ceiling.

"Come on now - round them us, they're only pixies!" Lockhart shouts.

Seriously? Shouldn't he have shown us how to round them up before setting them loose? What the hell does he expect us to do? Honestly, he's such an idiot.

He rolls up his sleeve, brandishes his wand and yells, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

That doesn't even  _sound_ like a spell to banish pixies! That doesn't even sound like any sort of spell, let alone one to banish pixies! Like I expect, the spell has absolutely no affect on the pixies. In fact, one of the pixies grabs his wand and chucks it out the window. Lockhart dives under his own desk, narrowly missing being hit by Neville, who fell as the ceiling gave way.

The bell rings and there's a huge rush toward the exit. In the slightly calmer scene that follows, Lockhart fins Harry, Ron, Hermione and I almost at the exit, and says. "Well, I'll just ask you to nip up the rest of them back in the cage." Then he sweeps past us, and shuts the door quickly behind them. I gape at the closed door in utter disbelief.

"Can you believe him?" Ron roars as a pixie bites him in the ear.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," Hermione says defensively, then does a Freezing Charm to two pixies at once, and stuffs them back in the cage.

I roll my eyes at her and mimic the spell as Harry says, "Hands on? Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing-"

"Rubbish," Hermione insists, "You've read his books - look at all the amazing stuff he's done-"

"He says he's done," Ron mutters.

That gets me thinking. Has Lockhart really done all the incredible things he's said he's done? Past evidence would make me think no. I mean, he didn't tell us how to round up these pixies, and failed miserably at doing it himself. And he seems all talk, really. But why would he lies about his achievements? None of it makes sense...


	12. Well, If You Insist

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Twelve: Well, If You Insist**

 

What a crazy week! Thank God it's Friday and I've got all my homework done. I'm in Fred and George's dormitory, which is empty except for the three of us. Which I suppose is a good thing, since I'm not exactly sure how their room-mates would react to me, a girl, being in here, the boys dormitory. We're just joking around. You know, the usual. It's kind of difficult to have a completely serious conversation with these two, and I prefer not to have serious conversations with them.

"So, how's your boyfriend, Hazel?" George teases.

"Who?" I say, in utter confusion.

"Harry, you dolt," he says impatiently. "You're practically in love with him."

"Oh, gag, no!" I say, hoping that my face shows disgust. "Harry's a great guy and I love him, but more like a brother. It'd be borderline incest, going out with him."

"Oh, please, if he's not your boyfriend, then you at least fancy each other," Fred says, smirking.

"Ugh, please, don't even joke about that," I plead, getting more disgusted by the minute.

Don't get me wrong here. It's not that I wouldn't like a guy lie Harry. Maybe  would like a guy lie him, who knows? It's just that, whether or not I'd like a guy like him, it could never be Harry, because of our history. Ever since the ickle age of five, we've been depending on each other. We'd look for one another when we're upset, find the other to have a laugh, and share whatever we'd get. So basically, we've been providing each other with the family we never had up until the point where we met. Ever since we were five, we've been family. I could never fancy a guy if I had a history like that with him.

"When's the wedding?" George says.

"Just make sure you don't get a little too carried away with him, you are only twelve," Fred adds, smirking more than ever. Okay. They've just crossed the line.

"Hey, where do you keep your brooms?" I ask sweetly and innocently.

"In the broom-shed, where they belong, genius," Fred says.

"Why?" George adds suspiciously.

"Oh, no reason, just that I may keep one of them somewhere you can't find it," I say devilishly, and run from the room. "Like, say, deep in the Forbidden Forest."

"HAZEL!" they both yell, but I'm already at the spiral staircase to the common room. I may not look it, but I'm pretty fast.

I sprint down the stairs, and burst through the door, closing the door quickly behind me. Ignoring Percy's yells about how I shouldn't be up there, I run across the common room. The sound of a door bursting open makes me look around. Fred and George are in the common room and are looking around to find me. They spot me quickly, but I'm already climbing through the portrait hole.

I slam the door shut behind me, and ignore the Fat Lady's shouts of protest. I run down the staircases, and miraculously remember when to jump trick stairs, and remember a few passageways here and there. I know that Fred and George aren't that far behind me, but I keep running. It's a wonder how I haven't fallen yet.

Once inside the Entrance Hall, I chance a backwards glance. Fred and George are at the top of the great marble staircase. I smile innocently at them, and, ignoring their shouts and laughing mischievously, I burst through the great, double doors.

I race across the grounds toward the broom-shed. I, of course, trip two or three times, and Fred and George get closer. I then realize that I won't have any time to fly that far into the forest. Ah well, I'll just have them chase me around the grounds on one of their brooms.

I fling the door to the broom-shed open, and look for one of their Cleansweep 5's. I find it after a couple of moments, grab it, and exit the shed. I realize that Fred and George are only a few feet away from me. So much for that running start I was planning on having... I mount the broom, and kick off into the air.

"CATCH ME IF YOU CAN!" I say, laughing in delight now that I'm up in the air again.

"OH, IT'S ON, KNIGHT!" they yell.

"BRING IT!" I retort, laughing.

They enter the shed. I can vaguely hear the sound of fighting. Obviously, they're arguing over which one'll have to use a school broom. They exit a moment later, each one holding a broom. I squint to see which one is the school broom. I notice the holder of it looks disgruntled. A second of squinting makes me realize that it's Fred. I laugh tauntingly at him.

Once they mount their brooms, I start flying around vaguely, as if to show them I'm not in any rush. Though, they're chasing me now. I start accelerating. I fly randomly around the pitch. Behind the stands, around the hoops, through the hoops. For a good fifteen minutes, I manage not to be caught. Soon, however, Fred and George trap me. They're at either side of me, and each of them clutching my broom.

"You better land or we'll knock you off your broom," Fred says warningly.

"Oh, please," I say, laughing cheekily, "you wouldn't do that, you love me too much!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Fred retorts. "You wish."

"Uh, no, you wish I wish," I say, starting up the game that we always seem to play.

"Are you kidding? You wish, that I wish, that you wish!" Fred replies.

"Are you joking? You wish, that I wish, that you wish, that I wish!" I say, smirking.

Fred opens his mouth to speak, but George says, "You know, this is a little confusing."

"I agree," Fred says.

"Me three," I say, grinning. "Here's the deal; I won't steal your brooms again, _if_ , and only if, you never speak of that conversation we had back in your dorm,  _unless_ I give you direct permission to.  _And_ you never express the ridiculous theory that Harry and I fancy each other or are going out, out loud to anyone but yourselves. Unless, of course, we do end up going out for some random, incest-y reason. Deal?"

Fred and George pull a face as though they're deep in though. I roll my eyes and wait. After what seems like forever of this waiting game, I snap, "Agree, or I'm flying into the Forbidden Forest!"

"All right," George says finally.

"Deal," Fred says.

They cross their hands, and offer them to me. I let go of my broom with both hands long enough to do our three person, cross handed handshake. Now that they've let go of the broom, I do another lap for fun since it's the last I'll be doing in a while.

"Seriously, Hazel? I thought we had a deal!" Fred says, pretending to be hurt.

"Oh, don't get your wand in a knot, it's just one more lap!" I say, laughing.

After my little lap, I dive towards the ground and land neatly on the ground. I heard toward the broom-shed with Fred and George to put the broom away. I'm halfway there when a voice stops me.

"Hey!" a boy's voice says, and the three of us turn around.

It's a burly looking boy around sixteen. It takes me a while to remember his name. After I second, I remember. Oliver Wood. He's the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Was that you flying up there?" he asks me, looking excited for some weird reason.

"Er, yeah, it was," I say, slightly embarrassed. "Why?"

"You're really good!" he says, his excitement mounting. "You know, I was having try-outs for a Chaser tomorrow, since Alicia left, maybe I've just found the perfect one!"

"M-me?" I stammer in disbelief.

"No, that bird over there-" George begins sarcastically.

"Yes, he means you!" Fred finishes, rolling his eyes.

"But, I've only ever flown, I've never actually done any Chaser stuff," I point out.

"Yes, you have, you did over the summer. Remember?" George says.

Oh, yeah. I kind of forgot about that. But still, that doesn't necessarily mean I'm good. Or, at least, House-team-worthy. I point out this very true fact, and Fred looks more exasperated than ever.

"Trust me, Oliver, she's brilliant," he says.

"Well, why don't you do a few test shots, anyway?" Oliver says encouragingly.

"Well, er, okay. I guess it couldn't hurt," I say nervously.

"Brilliant!" Oliver says excitedly. "I'll go get the Quaffle and my broom. We'll be needing you two, Fred and George, you know, to make it seem more like an actual match."

"Not a word on how I do," I saw warningly, because I know I'm going to mess up somehow, "In fact, not a word to anyone on this try-out unless I make the team."

Oliver comes back a few minutes later, and Fred and George kick off into the air. I mount my broom, and wait for Oliver to hover over the goalpost. I catch the Quaffle, and prepare myself at the other end of the pitch. I start flying on Wood's count. Dodging Fred and George's attempts to grab the Quaffle, I fly then to the goalpost, and after a second of aiming, throw it into the left hoop.

On the second shot, Fred has the ball, and I'm too busy focusing on him, that I realize too late that I've made George wide open. Fred passes the Quaffle to him. My brow furrowed with concentration, I accelerate, and, with plenty of difficulty, manage to grab the Quaffle. I shoot for the goalposts, making sure that Fred or George don't make a grab for the Quaffle. I throw the Quaffle, aiming for the left hoop again. Oliver seems to have anticipated it, and dives left. The Quaffle skims the tips of his fingers, but goes through nevertheless.

Time for the third shot. This time, it's a little more difficult. Fred and George are close on either side of me, trying to get at the Quaffle as if their lives depend on it. They're playing like Slytherins. No, I guess I should give them more credit. They don't seem to be trying to injure me.

"Not going easy on me, are you?" I say sarcastically.

"Only showing you what people could be like," George says, shrugging.

"In fact, we're going easier," Fred says. "Slytherins would be trying to murder you."

"Right," I say, and dive down to get away from them.

Once I'm about seven feet away from them, I level out, and start flying quicker. Once I think I'm at a safe distance, I veer upwards once more, and I realize right on time that I offside of the left hoop. I make a large arc, and shoot for the right hoop. It shoots straight through. I smile. Oliver told me before we left that we'd do about five shots, which means that not only am I nearly done being nervous, but I've gotten the majority of my shots in.

Fourth shot. Let's do this. George has got the ball this time. He passes to Fred, who passes back after a short while. I realize just in time that they're making a sort of back-and-forth pattern to confuse me. I accelerate once more, and intercept a pass from Fred. But, George snatches the Quaffle. I grab it back after a second of struggling, and head for the goalpost. I pretend that I'm shooting at the right hoop, and at the last second, go for the left one. It works like a charm, and the Quaffle goes right through.

Fifth shot. The last one. The one that means everything. I take a deep breath, and start flying. I zigzag to avoid Fred and George. When I'm nearly at the goalpost, however, Fred appears out of nowhere and takes the Quaffle from me. I speed toward him, and struggle to get the Quaffle back. After a few moment of this, I manage to grab it out of his reach. I shoot, but Fred sticks his hand out on its way to the right hoop, and it somehow ends up going for the middle one. Right where Wood is hovering. I close my eyes. It's over. I was so close too. Once I open them, I see the most unbelievable sight in the world. Oliver catches it, but somehow, it slips through his fingertips and falls to the ground. I gape in utter disbelief for a second, then dive for the Quaffle. Both Fred and George dive after it too. We're neck and neck, I accelerate more than I would normally dare to, grab the Quaffle, and pull out of the dive, veering upwards once more. I shoot for the right hoop once more, and it just barely goes in. I did it. I got all five shots in!

We land back on the ground and Oliver beams at me.

"That was great!" he exclaims. "You're on the team!"

"I'm on- on the what?" I say, not able to believe it. It seems so surreal.

"The team, of course!" he says.

"But, I haven't got a broom," I realize, my heart sinking.

"You can just use the school ones until you order one. You might be able to get a Nimbus 2000. The prices have dropped a bit since the Nimbus 2001 came out. If we're lucky, you'll get it in time for the first match."

"Well, if you insist!" I say in a tone of mock-arrogance, grinning.

"Great, practice is tomorrow. I better go prepare a few more strategies," he says, and leaves. Fred and George grin at me.

"Good job, Knight," George says.

"See, we told you you'd be a good Chaser," Fred adds in an 'I told you so' voice.

"I suppose you did," I say, as we walk back for the broom-shed. "Don't tell anyone. I want it to be a surprise for the first match."

"It's going to leak out, you know. The entire school'll know before the match, just like they did when Harry became Seeker," Fred points out.

"All right, then, I want it to be a secret for as long as possible," I elaborate.

"Okay," George says.

"If you insist," Fred adds, mocking my tone.

I laugh, and we store the brooms back in the shed. We head back across the ground and back to the castle afterwards, talking and laughing. I can't help but grin more than I normally would. I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team! I can hardly believe it.


	13. He Called Her a What?

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Thirteen: He Called Her a What?**

 

The next morning, someone shaking me wakes me up. Groaning, I open my eyes. I expect it to be Hermione and the time to be somewhere around 8:00, like what happens every Saturday, but instead, I see Angelina Johnson, in her Quidditch uniform, holding her broom over her shoulder and what looks to be a Quidditch uniform. Weird. I prop myself up on my elbows.

"Angelina? What're you doing here?" I ask curiously.

"Quidditch practice," Angelina replies, looking slightly grim.

Looking closer at her, I realize that she looks extremely tired. Exactly how I feel right now. I look out the window. The pink and gold sky has a thing mist hanging over it. The birds outside are so loud, it surprises me that I slept through that. Actually, when I think about it, it's not  _that_ surprising. I'm a heavy sleeper.

"Are you joking?" I say in utter disbelief. "Angelina, it's the crack of dawn! Even Oliver wouldn't be crazy enough to make us practice this early in the morning!"

"Sadly, he is. Now come on, I've got your uniform here," she tells me and hands me scarlet robes, what I think are combat boots, and a bunch of other passing and equipment.

"How did you know about this? He didn't tell me yesterday. And boys can't come up the girls dormitories, can they?" I ask, sitting up and taking the uniform.

"He decided on it late last night. He told me and Katie, and told us to wake you up," Angelina explains.

"He could've just told me," I grumble as I get out of bed.

"Maybe you were already upstairs," she suggests, shrugging. "Doesn't really matter, does it? Get dressed and go down to the pitch. I'll see you later."

"Bye," I say, sighing.

I quickly change into my uniform. It fits me perfectly. And I quite like the combat boots. I scribble down a quick note to Hermione to tell her where I am, and hurry down the stairs. I jog through the common room, through the castle, and into the grounds. Immediately, I shiver violently. I should've worn my cloak. I start to run to keep warm. I enter the changing room, and see that Angelina, Katie Bell, and Oliver Wood are here.

"Hey," I say, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, brilliant, Hazel, you're here," Oliver says happily. "Sit down."

As I sit down, Fred and George, looking puffy-eyed and tousle-haired, walk in. They sit down on either side of me. George tries, and fails, to stifle a yawn, and Fred doesn't even bother to stifle his own. If I wasn't so tired myself, I would laugh at them.

"Morning," I say sleepily. "Good grief, why does dawn have to exist?"

"Dunno, but it'd be helpful if it didn't, wouldn't it?" George mumbles.

When Harry walks in, he looks around, see me, and looks surprised. I grin at how utterly confused he look. I managed to not tell Harry, Ron, or Hermione. But I suppose I've told Hermione just now by leaving that note. Oh, I hope Parvati and Lavender don't see it. They'll make sure the whole school knows by noon...

"You're on the Quidditch team?" Harry asks, looking pleasantly surprised.

"Oh, no. I'm just here at the crack of dawn wearing Quidditch robes for the hell of it," I say sarcastically.

"Hilarious," Harry says, rolling his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," I reply, as though this should be the most obvious thing in the world, then add, "Surprise!"

"Right," he says, then sits down next to George.

Wood takes out a board with a large diagram of the Quidditch pitch, in which he had drawn many lines, arrows and crosses in different coloured inks. At that moment, I realize that he's the only one that actually looks fully awake. That doesn't surprise me, funny enough. Oliver launches into a huge speech about Quidditch tactics. After about five minutes of this, Fred's head droops right onto my shoulder and he falls straight to sleep. Of course. I exchange glances with George, and though we're both close to falling asleep ourselves, we grin, trying to stifle laughs. I manage to listen through the first board, but when he takes out a second, I frankly stop paying attention. I drop off in a state of semi-consciousness, my heavy eyes just barely staying open.

"So," Oliver says loudly, making me jump, which makes Fred have a mini spasm and take his head off my shoulder. I stifle a laugh once more, and turn my attention back to Oliver, "Any questions?"

"I've got a question, Oliver," George, who's woken up with a start, says, "Why didn't you tell us all of this last night when we were awake?"

You know, that's a really good point. We probably would've listened better if he told us when we weren't half asleep. Wood, looking displeased, says, "Now listen here, you lot. We should've won that Quidditch Cup last year. We're easily the best team. But due to certain circumstances what we couldn't control-"

I know immediately that he's talking about how Gryffindor was destroyed by Ravenclaw in the final match of the season - the one that would determine whether or not we'd win the Quidditch cup - because Harry was unconscious in the hospital wing after the whole Philosopher's Stone rescue. I remember the match with a pang. Fred and George has miserably told me afterwards that it was the worst defeat that Gryffindor had had in years. But they didn't need to tell me that. I could already tell. Oliver takes a deep breath to control himself, and carries on.

"So, this year, we're going to train harder than ever... right, now, let's put these theories to practice," he shouts, grabs his broomstick, and leads the way outside.

I grab the broom that Oliver had gotten for me, and head out for the pitch along with the rest of the groaning and yawning team. Out on the pitch, I see Ron and Hermione in the stands.

"YOU AREN'T FINISHED YET?" Ron yells out incredulously.

"HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED," Harry yells back. "Wood's been teaching us some new moves,"

I mount my broom, and kick off into the air. The cool air whips my face, and I feel more awake now. I soar around the pitch, laughing in delight. Suddenly, I hear a weird clicking noise. I turn to the stands, and see Colin Creevey taking picture after picture of Harry. I shake my head and laugh. Oliver seems to be under the impression that he's a Slytherin spy.

"He's in Gryffindor," Harry says quickly.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy," George says.

"Why not?" Oliver asks testily.

"Because they're here in person," George says, pointing.

Oliver swears violently, lands, staggering slightly in his anger. That boy is a bit over-enthusiastic about Quidditch. I love it, too, but he just takes it to a whole new level. Harry, Fred, George and I follow.

"Flint!" Oliver bellows at the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint. "This is our practice time! We cleared specially. You can clear off now."

"There's enough room for all of us, Wood," Flint replies coolly.

"But I booked the pitch!" Oliver hisses. "I booked it!"

"Ah, but I've got a note," Flint says, "I, Professor Snape, give permission to Slytherin to practice this Saturday, owing to the need to practice with their new Seeker."

"You've got a new Seeker," Oliver asks, "where?"

Draco Malfoy, steps forward, smirking broadly. You're joking. This is a joke. Malfoy? Seeker? I don't believe it.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" Fred says in intense dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," Flint says, smirking, "look at the generous gift he donated to the team."

The team holds us seven shining, highly-polished broomsticks, with fine gold lettering. A Nimbus 2001. Flint goes on, bragging about them, and all of us Gryffindors are silent. That prat! Of course he had to buy his way in. He couldn't get in on pure talent! Finally, I speak up.

"So, enlighten us, was this generous donation before or after Malfoy tired out, and eventually made the team," I say conversationally, "if he even tried out at all."

The Gryffindor team grins at my comment. Malfoy is about to retort, when Ron and Hermione run and join us. Ron looks disbelievingly at Malfoy being Seeker and the sleek Nimbus 2001's.

"Good, aren't they?" Malfoy says casually. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to get some money and buy them too. I bet a museum would bid for those Cleansweeps,"

As the Slytherins howl with laughter, Hermione retorts. "At least nobody in the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

I beam at her. You tell them, Hermione! The smug look on Malfoy's face flickers for a moment, and my smile widens more than ever.

"Nobody asked for your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he says maliciously.

I have no idea what that means, but I can tell immediately that it's bad. Angelina and Katie shriek, "How dare you?!". Flint has to dive in front of Malfoy in order to stop Fred and George jumping on him. I glance at Harry and I know immediately that he's as clueless as me. Ron raised his wand and tries to aim at Malfoy's face, all the while saying, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!"

A loud bang echoes over the pitch and a jet of green lights from Ron's wand and shoots from the wrong end and sends him flying several feet back. All of us Gryffindors run towards him, while the Slytherin's are clutching stitches in their chests from laughing so hard. Gits.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?!" Hermione squeals.

Ron sits up and opens his mouth to speak, but instead of words coming out of his mouth, a bunch of small slugs burst out. If the Slytherins were laughing before, that's absolutely nothing compared to now.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid, he's nearest," Harry suggests, and Hermione and I nod, and together, we pull Ron up by the arm.

Colin dashes toward us, camera in hand, asking for us to move to get a better view. For real? Ron is barfing up slugs, and he wants us to pose for a picture? He can't be serious. Harry, Hermione and I support Ron through the stadium, and across the grounds to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Once we're within twenty feet of Hagrid's cabin, Harry suddenly stops. Lockhart bursts through the door of Hagrid's house, and Harry drags all of us into a bush, Hermione looking reluctant.

Lockhart's going on about who knows what to Hagrid. But it's clear that he's being a giant prat. Once Lockhart's out of sight, Harry drags Ron forward and we finally reach Hagrid's hut. We knock urgently. Hagrid, looking particularly grumpy, answers. His expression brightens at the sight of us. Well, I feel loved.

We hurry Ron inside. Hagrid doesn't look all that bothered by what happened to Ron, which I hastily explained as Harry and Hermione lower Ron onto a chair. He hands Ron a large bucket.

"Better out that in," he says cheerfully, "there's nothin' else to do but wait fer it ter stop. Get 'em all out, Ron."

"It's a very difficult curse to do, especially with a broken wand," Hermione agrees, as though to reassure Ron.

"Why was Lockhart here?" Harry asks.

"Showin' me how to get kelpies out of a well," Hagrid grumbles, looking grumpy once more, "like I don' know. An' bangin' on about some banshee he banished. If any word of it's true, I'll eat my kettle."

I smile appreciatively. Coming from Hagrid, who wasn't one to insult a Hogwarts teacher, this was a pleasant surprise. Hermione, on the other hand, say in a slightly high-pitched voice, "Hagrid, I don't think that's fair. Obviously Dumbledore thought he was the best man for the job-"

"He was the on'y man fer the job," Hagrid says, offering us some treacle tart, "an' I mean the on'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. People aren't too keen ter take it on, you see. They're startin' to think it's cursed. No one's stayed too long. So anyway, who was Ron trying to curse in the first place?"

"Malfoy," I reply, "he called Hermione a- a- well, I don't really know exactly. I mean, it must be bad, since everyone went wild, but-"

"It's bad," Ron croaks, resurfacing from his bucket, "Malfoy called her a Mudblood, Hagrid-"

Whatever else he was going to say, we'll never know, because he dives back under the bucket to vomit more slugs. I pat his shoulder consolingly. Hagrid looks outraged. But what is a Mudblood? What does it mean? What's so bad about it?

"He didn'," he growls.

"He did," Hermione says, "but I don't know what it means. I mean, it's obviously very ruse, but-"

"It's about the worst thing he could come up with," Ron says, resurfacing once more, "Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who's Muggle-born - you know, non magic parents - there are some people, like Malfoy's family, who think they're better than everyone else because they're what some people call pure-blood," he coughs up another slug, and catches it in his hand. He throws it in the bucket and casually continues, "I mean, the rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville, he's pure-blood, but he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up."

A little mean, but I suppose it's true. And a lot better than calling someone a Mudblood. That foul, little prat! How dare Malfoy call her that? I know I'm a little late on the reactions, but, hey, I didn't know what it meant until now!

"An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can't do," Hagrid says proudly, making Hermione go pink. "It means dirty blood, you see. Complete rubbish, it is. There's not a wizard today who's not half-blood or less. We woulda died out if we didn' marry Muggles. I don't blame you fer trying to curse him, Ron. But maybe it was a good thing that the curse backfired. 'Spect Lucius Malfoy would come marching up the castle if he heard yeh cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble. Come and see what I've been growin," he adds, once Harry, Hermione and I finish our tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's hut, is a dozen pumpkins. Not just any dozen pumpkins, though. They're the biggest pumpkins I've ever seen.

"I've er - been giving it a bit o' help," Hagrid says quietly, looking around to see that nobody's here.

"An engorgement charm, I suppose?" Hermione says promptly. "Well, you've done a good job on them."

"That's what yer little sister, said yesterday. Met her yesterday," Hagrid tells Ron, and then gives Harry a sideways glance, his beard twitching, "If yeh ask me, Harry, I don' reckon she'd say no ter a signed photo-"

"Oh, shut up," Harry says, and Ron snorts out slugs from laughing.

"WATCH IT!" Hagrid roars, dragging Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

We're walking back to the castle now. It's nearly lunchtime, and I'm very hungry after many hours without eating. We've barely stepped into the school Entrance hall, however, when McGonagall stops us.

"There you are, Potter - Weasley - Knight," she says, and hurries towards us. "All of you will be doing your detentions tonight."

"What're we doing, Professor?" Ron asks, suppressing a burp.

"You will be polishing silver with Mr. Filch in the trophy room," McGonagall tells him. "And no magic - elbow grease, Weasley."

Ron gulps. Makes sense, of course. Filch is a giant prat, and hated by every student. And he hates us back. It'll be torture, being with him for so long.

"And you, Mr. Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail," McGonagall adds.

Of all the things she could've done. Lockhart! Seriously? Doesn't she know that'll be horrible for Harry? Or maybe that's the point. I take a deep breath, wondering what horrible detention is in store for me.

"And, you, Ms. Knight, will be helping Professor Snape with some Potions related chores," McGonagall says.

"Meaning? What kind of Potions related chores?" I ask, my heart sinking.

"Sorting out ingredients and making sure everything is in order," she replies promptly, "8 o'clock sharp, all of you."

Really? Filch, Lockhart  _and_ Snape? I thought they had banned torturing students for detention! Harry, Ron and I enter the Great Hall gloomily, while Hermione walks beside me, with a 'well, you did break the rules' expression on her face. Lunch isn't nearly as good as I thought it would be.

"Filch'll have me there all night," Ron groans. "No magic! There must be a hundred cups in there! I'm no good at Muggle cleaning."

"I'd swap any day," Harry says hollowly. "I've had loads of practice with the Dursleys... answering Lockhart's fan mail... he'll be a nightmare!"

"Well, I'd take Filch or Lockhart over Snape any day," I say. "After how badly he wanted us to be expelled? It'll be torture! I swear, if all he's really making me do is sort out ingredients and make sure everything is in order like McGonagall said instead of being a giant git to me, I'll eat my own hair."

Well, it's true! That's why I make sure Snape doesn't catch me while I'm off pranking or something. If it's someone else, it isn't as bad, but if it's him, he'll demand that I be expelled. I sigh. At least it's only one detention and not months, like I had expected that night.


	14. The Writing on the Wall

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Fourteen: The Writing on the Wall**

 

7:50 comes much too quickly, in my opinion. Sighing, I bid Fred and George goodbye, and make my way to the dungeons. I make it just in time. I knock reluctantly on the door to his office.

"Enter," Snape's voice says immediately.

I enter his office, and he smiles maliciously at the sight of me. That can only mean one thing. He's going to make these hours of the my detention the worst of my life. Oh, great.

"Today, Knight, you'll be fixing up a few ingredients. You know, sorting them into the right place in the Student Store," he says.

"All right," I say.

"And, you may need to make them ready for use. Squeezing certain things, crushing others. I have a list for you," he says, and hands me a long list. "And there's no need to use Dragonhide gloves for the more - ah - difficult items."

I can tell by the look on his face when he says "different" he means dangerous and painful. Oh, woopie for me. I just nod my head and allow him to lead me to the dungeon where Potions classes are held. He points to several large boxes, and gestures for me to set to work. I sigh, and begin sorting through them.

It's terrible work. There are several things to be crushed and squeezed so that it's fit for use. And as I'm using my bare hands to put them into the contains and crush and squeeze them, my hands start to ache and burn. It doesn't help that Snape keeps breathing down my neck, telling me to hurry it up, or that I'm not doing good enough, or that I'll stay here until I'm finished. Could this be any worse? I'd so rather be with Lockhart or Filch right now. Answering fan mail and cleaning trophies isn't nearly this bas!

Four hours. Four long, hours. That's how long it takes for me to sort out all of the ingredients. My hands are aching terribly, but I act like they're perfectly okay. I don't want Snape to know that they hurt. I wait as he inspects my work. When he finishes he turns to me.

"Very well, you may go," he says, looking reluctant.

Finally! Trying not to dance from happiness, I walk as calmly as I can out of the room. Just as I pass Snape, however, he grabs my shoulder, taking me by surprise. I don't let that show, though. I look at him right in the eyes. His black eyes that remind me of dark tunnels, my expression as emotionless as his. At least, I hope so.

"I hope you know that you're pushing your luck, Knight," he hisses, his eyes glittering maliciously. "Were you in Slytherin and your fate rested with me, I promise that you would not be here right now. And I assure you that if you ever break any more rules, I will see to it that you are expelled."

"Wonderful," I say through gritted teeth, "have fun with that."

And I walk right through the door without another word. I walk through the halls, wondering what Snape will do about that. Obviously, he's furious for the disrespect. Oh, well. It's not like he didn't hate me before... I wonder whether Harry and Ron are done their detentions. They must be, really. As I arrive at the Entrance Hall, someone calling my name gets my attention.

"Hazel!" Ron says, looking exasperated, and walking toward me along with Hermione.

"Hello," I greet serenely.

"We've been saying your name for ages. It's like you're in another world or something," Ron says, shaking his head.

"Is that so?" I say, undisturbed by this. "Oh, well. Have you seen Harry?"

"No," Hermione says, "we thought he'd be out by now, but we haven't seen him."

"Well, how long can answering some fan mail take? Let's go wait for him at Lockhart's office," I suggest, and we head over.

"How did detention with Snape go?" Ron asks.

"It was dreadful," I say, "he had me sorting out Potion ingredients, yes, but he also had me making them fit for use with my bare hands. My hands hurt like hell right now. But anyway, how was detention with Filch?"

"Terrible. I burped up a slug on one of the trophies and he had me cleaning it for another half an hour," Ron says, rolling his eyes.

"I hope Harry's time was better than ours, at least," I say dully.

"Hazel, it's Lockhart," Ron says. "I doubt it was any better."

I laugh as Hermione says, blushing, "What's wrong with being in detention with Lockhart. I actually think he got off lucky."

"Of course  _you_ do, Hermione, but we're not all in love with him, you know," I say matter-of-factly, "Just most of the female population is."

Hermione blushes more than ever, and Ron and I smirk at each other. We nearly make to Lockhart's office, but right as we went to turn the corner, we bump into Harry, who's rubbing his scar.

"Harry!" Hermione and I say, and I'm about to ask how his detention is, when he speaks.

"Did you hear it? That voice?" Harry asks urgently.

"Voice? What voice?" Hermione says, looking confused.

I'm rather confused myself. He looks around as though trying to find something. Ron, Hermione and I exchange hopelessly confused looks. What's going on right now?

"It's moving," Harry says vaguely. "I think it's going to kill!"

"Kill?" Ron says in disbelief, but Harry's already running.

We run after him. We try, and fail, to get him to slow down enough to actually explain what the bloody hell is going on. He doesn't stop until he reaches a corridor with large puddles here and there. I look around the corridor. Finally, I see Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Typical. Then I see something else. Something horrible.

Mrs. Norris, hanging where a torch would go, stiff as a board. And on the wall, is a message: THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED, ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE. It's written in red ink. Wait, no. It's not red ink, it's-

"It's written in blood," Hermione says, looking slightly sick.

Harry walks forward to get a closer look. Suddenly, what seems to be the entire school shows up from different directions. They freeze at the sight of the scene. There's murmuring and pointing at the writing and Mrs. Norris, most people looking worried and scared. Finally, someone addresses the writing for everyone to hear.

"Enemies of the heir, beware?" Malfoy says in a loud, carrying voice. "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

He's looking directly at Hermione when he says that. I resist the urge to punch him in the face. The only reason I don't is because it's not exactly appropriate to the situation, is it? Suddenly, Filch pushes his way through the crowd. He freezes at the sight of Mrs. Norris, looking horror-struck.

"My cat! My cat! What happened to Mrs. Norris!" he shrieks, then his eyes fall on Harry, "You! You killed! You've murdered my cat! I'll kill you! I'll-"

"Argus!" a voice says.

Dumbledore arrives at the scene, along with several other teachers. When he sees what happened to the cat, he looks kind of surprised. Or maybe worried? I'm not quite sure what he's feeling right now, really, it's hard to tell.

"Everyone will proceed to their dormitories immediately," Dumbledore says calmly.

We all turn to leave. Harry, Ron, Hermione, turn quickly, all of us eager to leave, but Dumbledore's voice makes us turn around once more.

"Everyone except... you four," he says, pointing at the four of us.

Sighing, we turn around as the rest of the school clears out. It takes a very short time. Not that I'm surprised. I expect they all want to get as far away from the scene as possible.

"She's not dead, Argus, but she has been petrified," Dumbledore says.

"Ah, thought so," Lockhart says, walking forward towards Mrs. Morris. "So unlucky I wasn't there. I know just the counter-curse that would've spared her."

I roll my eyes at him, while Filch gives a sob. Dumbledore just gives him a sort of pointed glance, before continuing, looking rather thoughtful.

"But how has she been petrified, I cannot say," he goes on.

"Ask him. He's the one who's done it," Filch says, pointing at Harry with pure hatred on his face. "You saw what he wrote on the wall."

"It's not true, sir, I swear! I never touched Mrs. Norris," Harry says pleadingly.

"Rubbish!" Filch protests, looking more upset and accusing my the minute.

"If I might Headmaster, maybe Potter and his friends were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time," Snape says, and Harry, Ron, Hermione and I exchange disbelieving glances. Snape sticking up for Harry? It's like the world's been turned upside down! "However, the circumstances are suspicious. I, for one, don't recall seeing Potter at dinner."

And there's the Severus Snape we all know and hate. With the malicious, yet rather unfathomable face and the glittering, black eyes. Why can't he just keep his mouth shut? It'd do everyone a lot of good.

"I'm afraid that's my doing, Severus," Lockhart pipes us. "You see, Harry was helping me answer my fan mail."

"That's why Ron, Hermione and I went looking for him, Professor," I add anxiously, and Snape turns to me, eyebrows raised slightly. "We'd just found him when he said..."

"Yes, Knight?" Snape says, and I give Harry a glance that asks, 'Should we tell them?'

"When I said I wasn't hungry," Harry cuts in, with a pointed glance in my direction, "We were just heading back to the common room when we found Mrs. Norris."

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," Dumbledore points out, and Snape stops interrogating us, looking reluctant.

"My cat has been petrified. I want to see some punishment!" Filch exclaims.

"We will be able to cure her, Argus. As I am aware, Professor Sprout has a very healthy growth of Mandrakes," Dumbledore says, and at the mention of her name, Sprout nods reassuringly at Filch. "When matured, a potion will be made to revive Mrs. Norris. Until then, I strongly advise caution... to all."

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I nod and hurry away quickly. We're silent for a long time, until we reach the last staircase that leads to the Gryffindor common room.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Hermione says, suddenly.

"Strange?" Harry repeats, looking confused.

"You hear a voice, a voice only you can hear, and then Mrs. Norris turns out petrified. It's just... strange," Hermione says, turning around to face Harry.

"Do you think I should've told them?" Harry asks. "Dumbledore and the others, I mean."

"No!" Ron exclaims.

"Are mental?" I add, shaking my head.

"No, Harry. Even in the wizarding world, hearing voices isn't a good sign," Hermione explains, and climbs up the last few stairs.

"She's right, you know," some random portrait tells us.

"Right, we better go before the staircase moves again," I suggest, and we climb up the few staircases again.

Who did petrify Mrs. Norris? And how? And what is the Chamber of Secrets, anyway? Maybe I should ask Hermione, she'd know. Well, whatever it is, it's obviously horrible, otherwise all of those people wouldn't have looked scared. And I think the teachers are worried. They don't give much sign of it, but I have a feeling they must be at least a little worried. And Dumbledore did advise caution to all of us. But for what reason what is I want to know.


	15. The Plan

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Fifteen: The Plan**

 

The next day, the writing on the wall shines as brightly as though it's just been written. Filch keeps scrubbing it, but it's no use. When he isn't trying to clean up the writing, he's skulking around the corridors, giving students detentions for stupid reasons like breathing too loudly or looking too happy. I've already gotten three detentions. One because I breathed too loudly, another because I laughed at a joke Fred told me, and the third simply because I annoy him. Well, that's fair...

Ginny also seems rather disturbed about what happened to Mrs. Norris, too. According to Ron, she loves cats. Hey, I like cats too, but this is Mrs. Norris we're talking about. That cat is the biggest annoyance in the world and most people, including me, aren't the least bit upset about its fate. Not to sound heartless, or anything, if it was any other cat, I would've been horribly upset.

Anyway, Hermione's also been affected by the cat. But in an entirely different way. It's quite usual for Hermione to spend most of her time reading. In fact, it would be considered unusual if she  _didn't_ spend most of her time reading. but now, it seems that she does almost nothing else. Harry, Ron and I try to ask what she's doing, but we get little response.

Finally, the following Wednesday, she finally seems ready to let us know what the bloody hell she's been doing for the past few days. Though she looks rather irritable.

"All the copies of  _Hogwarts, A History_ have been checked out," she sighs, sitting down next to Harry. "And there's a two week waiting list. I wish I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it with all of Lockhart's books."

"Why do you want it, anyway?" I ask, as Ron struggles to finish his History of Magic essay. I shake my head at him. We have History of Magic next.

"The same reason everyone else wants it. To read up about the Chamber of Secrets,2 Hermione replies.

"Hermione, let me have a look at your composition," Ron suddenly says.

"No, you've had a full ten days to finish it," Hermione snaps.

"Come on, Hermione, I only need a couple more inches!" Ron pleads, but Hermione blatantly refuses.

The bell rings, and Ron and Hermione lead the way to class, bickering. Harry and I exchange exasperated glances, shake our heads, and follow. History of Magic has to be the most dull subject ever. Our teacher, Professor Binns, is a ghost, so you'd think it'd be pretty exciting, but it isn't. Many people say that he hasn't noticed he's dead. He just woke up one day to teach and left his body behind and his schedule hasn't changed in the slightest. I doubt it, but sometimes he gives off that impression.

I can tell today's going to be as boring as ever. Binns opens his notes and begins to read aloud in his usual flat drone, until nearly everyone is either asleep or daydreaming, occasionally snapping out of it long enough to copy something down before going back to their state of sleepiness. After around half an hour, something happens that has never once happened in this classroom. Hermione raises her hand. Binns looks up at her from his notes, looking amazed.

"Miss - er-"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us about the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione declares.

At her words, the entire class wakes up. Dean Thomas, who's been staring out the window with his mouth open moments before, snaps out of his trance. Lavender's arms jerk off of her head, and Neville's elbow slipped off his desk. Professor Binns blinks. Maybe this class won't be so boring after all...

"My subject is History of Magic, Ms. Granger," Binns informs us dryly, as though he expects this to be new information to us, "I don't deal with matters such as myths and legends," and with that, he continues to drone on about who knows what, "In September that year, a subcommittee of-"

He falters slowly to a stop. Hermione's hand is back in the air, and she looks determined. And when she's determined, then there's no hope for getting your way if your is against hers. I smile, knowing exactly who's going to win the battle that'll probably come. Hermione Granger.

"Ms. Grant?" he addresses, and I shake my head. He's forgotten her name already.

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?" Hermione counters, but there's still respect in her voice.

What did I tell you? By the end of the class, the entire class will have information on the Chamber of Secrets. I grin even wider, something I've never done in History of Magic. Binns looks completely stunned. I'm positive that no student in his entire career of teaching had interrupted him while he was reading out his notes, let alone them being as persistent as Hermione.

"Well, yes," Binns begins slowly, "I suppose one could debate over that," he peers at Hermione as though he's never seen a student before, "but to say there is any fact in such a ludicrous tale-"

But the entire class, for once, is hanging on to his every word. He looked around at all of our faces, which are all completely focused on him. I can tell that he's completely caught off guard by all the attention he's getting right now.

"Oh, very well," he decides slowly, "let me see... the Chamber of Secrets... you all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded by the four greatest wizards of the age. The four school houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from Muggle's prying eyes, for it was an age where people feared magic, and witches and wizards suffered persecution."

He looks around bleakly at us, at how intently we're all listening, how we're taking in every word, how we all have all of our attention on him, and only him; someone could walk in and steal Binn's desk and we would hardly notice. He sighs and continues.

"For a few years, they worked together harmoniously, seeking out youngsters who shows signs of magic and bringing them here to be educated. But then disagreements started between then. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students permitted into Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept between all magic families. He did not like admitting wizards and witches of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, a serious argument started between Slytherin and Gryffindor on the subject, and eventually, Slytherin left the school."

I wonder what he means by 'serious'. Was there only a lot of yelling and screaming, or more? Did they duel? Imagine a duel between two of the most powerful wizards in the world. It would be wicked, horrible, and terrifying to witness, all at the same time. I feel rather bad for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff if they had to see it happen. But they must have agreed with Gryffindor, otherwise they would've left with Slytherin. Binns pauses once more, looking as though he really doesn't want to continue telling the tale, but he finally goes on.

"Reliable historic sources tell us this much," he makes known, "but these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story says that Slytherin built a secret chamber inside the castle, that none of the other founders knew about. Slytherin, according to legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his true heir returned to the school. No one but the heir would be able to unseal the Chamber, and unleash the horrors within on those who were unworthy to study magic."

A long silence replaces the sound of his voice, but it's not the usual, bored sleepy silence. Everyone, for once, looks wide awake and alert, and there's an air of uneasiness that seems to annoy Binns. He tries to convince us that it's all rubbish, but I have something else on my mind. I raise my hand. "Sir, what exactly does legend say lies within the Chamber?"

"It's said to be a monster that only the heir can control," he replies dryly, and seeing our nervous looks, adds, "I tell you, it doesn't exist. There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," Seamus protests. "If it was made so that only the heir can open and find it, nobody else would be able to find it, would they?2

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," Binns insists. "If generations of headmasters and headmistresses couldn't find it, then I highly doubt-"

"But, Professor," Parvati Patil pipes up. "You'd probably need Dark Magic or something to open it-"

"Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic, doesn't mean he can't, Ms. Patil," Binns snaps. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore-"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore-" Dean begins.

"That will do!" Binns interrupts, losing his temper slightly. "It's a myth, it doesn't exists! We will return, if you please, to History of Magic. Solid facts!"

And within five minutes, the class is back to its usual sleepy stupor. At the end of class, Ron talks about how horrible Slytherin is and how he'd go straight back home if he'd been sorted there. I try not to be prejudiced, but after hearing about the Chamber of Secrets, I can't help but agree along with Hermione. Harry just stands there uncomfortably, though. I glance at him suspiciously for a second. But then, we find ourselves at the same corridor in which the writing on the wall appeared, and it's still there. Filch isn't here. Couldn't hurt to poke around for a little, could it? We look around for a little, until we find some spiders. But there's something strange about them. They're walking in a straight, uniform line, scurrying as though in a rush.

"I've never seen spiders act like that, have you?" I mutter.

Both Harry and Hermione nod and mumble in agreement, but Ron doesn't say anything. I turn and see that he's standing a good distance away. What's up with him?

"I don't like spiders!" he mumbles tensely.

"I never knew that," Hermione says, looking shocked. "I've seen you use them all the time in Potions."

"I don't mind them dead," Ron mutters. "I don't like the way they move..."

Hermione giggles. I just pat his shoulder and reassure him that a lot of other people are afraid of spiders, while holding back a laugh. He only seems to notice Hermione, though.

"I'll have you know that when I was three, Fred turned my teddy bear into a giant spider because I broke his toy broomstick," Ron tells her stiffly, "Imagine hugging your teddy bear and then having it turn hair and grow all these extra legs..."

I'm more tempted to laugh than ever, but I hold it back again, out of sympathy for Ron, once I see his expression. I'll have to have a serious talk with Fred. I don't know where or not he knows this, but are the mere age of five, he managed to scar his younger brother for life...

Trying to change the subject, since Hermione still looks like she's biting back a laugh, I suggest we get to our next class.

Later in the Common Room as we're doing homework, Hermione, to my surprise, slams her textbook shut. She looks extremely thoughtful.

"Who can it be, though?" she asks to no one in particular. "Who's want to frighten off all the Muggle-borns and Squibs?"

"Oh, gee, let's think," Ron begins sarcastically. "Who do we know that thinks all Muggle-Borns are scum?"

"If you're talking about Malfoy-" Hermione says, after a moment.

"Of course I am," Ron exclaims. "You heard him - 'You'll be next, Mudbloods!' - come on, all you've got to do is look into his foul, rat face to know its him!"

"But Malfoy, the heir of Slytherin?" Hermione questions sceptically.

"Think about it Hermione," Harry says, closing his books as well. "His entire family have been in Slytherin for ages, he's always boasting about it. He could easily be the heir of Slytherin, his father's definitely evil enough."

"That's true, but Slytherin was one of the most brilliant wizards of the age," I point out. "so, Malfoy would have to have some of his brilliant, wouldn't he? And, weirdly enough, I don't think he's brilliant enough to be his heir. But still, I suppose he doesn't  _have_ to have inherited his brilliance..."

"It's possible," Hermione muses. "But we'll need to make sure. There is a way of course. But it's risky. And we'll be breaking about fifty school rules. And it'll be dangerous, very dangerous."

"In fifty years, when you feel like telling us, be sure to let us know, won't you?" Ron snaps.

"We just need to get inside the Slytherin common room and question Malfoy," Hermione replies coldly, as though that's the simplest thing in the world.

"But that's impossible!" Harry exclaims, as Ron laughs. I just watch her suspiciously. What is she playing at?

"No, it's not," Hermione insists. "All we need is some Polyjuice Potion."

So that's what she's playing at. Polyjuice Potion. Is she mental? That's supposed to be NEWT level. I only know about this because Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago. I wouldn't normally listen during Potions, but I'm trying to work on my Potions' grade, since it's one of my worst subjects.

"What?" Harry and Ron ask in unison.

"Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago-"

"D'you think we have nothing better to do than listen to Snape during Potions?" Ron mutters, and I choke back a laugh.

"It transforms you into someone else. Think about it! We could change into four Slytherins and nobody would know it was us. Malfoy would tell us anything. He's probably boasting about it in the Slytherin Common Room, if only we could hear him."

"This Polyjuice sounds a bit dodgy to me," Ron says suspiciously. "What if we're stuck four Slytherins forever."

I imagine looking like Pansy Parkinson for the rest of my life, and, with difficulty, hold back a shudder. And not just because she's hideous. But, apparently, she has a bit of a thing with Malfoy. Imagine, him thinking I'm her and kissing mw. How disgusting! Bit Hermione reassures us that it wears off after a while, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The real problem is getting the book on how to brew the potion. It's in the Restricted Section, which means we'll need a note. Something we're not likely to get. Restriction Section books are for NEWT students, not Second Years like us.

"I think," Hermione concedes, "that if we act like we're only interested in the theory, we might stand a chance."

"Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that," Ron argues. "They'd have to be really, really thick..."

At that moment, I know exactly who to ask. Lockhart. He's thick enough to believe it. hell, I don't reckon we'll really need to tell him why we need the note. Just ask for his autograph, and he'll be sure enough to sign it. Maybe throw in a few compliments here and there. He won't even bother to question why we'd want the autograph, even though we've seen him around for quite some time, and it's not as big of a deal to see him any more, even to people who are in love with him, like Hermione. No, he's so arrogant that we'll be able to get that note without a problem.


	16. A Crazy Quidditch Match and a Lovely Conversation

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Sixteen: A Crazy Quidditch Match and a Lovely Conversation**

 

At the end of class, once everyone's left, we approach Lockhart's desk, Hermione clutching a piece of paper in her hands. So, we went with my plan. Harry and Ron agreed that he's stupid enough to sign it without looking at it, and Hermione... well, I'm not sure what Hermione was thinking, but she agreed, didn't she? So, it's all good.

"Er- Professor. I wanted to- to take this out of the library. Just for some background reading," Hermione stammers, holding out the piece of paper, "but the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section, so I need a note from a teacher - and I'm sure it'll help what you said about slow-acting venoms in Gadding with Ghouls."

"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls," Lockhart begins, taking the note and beaming at her, "Quite possibly my favourite book. You enjoyed it?"

Hermione goes on about her favourite part, but Lockhart interrupts her. He takes out a large peacock quill from his desk. He sees Ron, and misreads the revolted look on his face, and tells us he only used it for book-signings. Because that's totally what Ron was thinking... he scrawls an enormous, loopy signature, and hands the note to Hermione. Then talks to Harry, saying that Lockhart can give Harry a few flying tips for the match on Saturday. Oh, please, I'll be surprised if he can mount a broom properly.

We hurry over to the library, and when Madam Pince tries to take the note, Hermione holds on to it, asking if she could keep it. Ron has the common sence to rip it out of her grasp and hand it to Madam Pince, who gets the book for us. We hurry over to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and look at the page with Polyjuice in it. This might be complicated. One, we'll need to steal a lot from Snape's private stores, and two, this is the most complicated thing Hermione has ever seen. Which means that it's really the most complicated thing that Harry, Ron and I have ever seen. Oh, and three, we need to get a bit of who we're changing into. Ugh, I need to drink a bit of Pansy Parkinson? When Ron questions whether or not we should do this after all, Hermione closes the book with a snap.

"Well, if you three want to chicken out, fine," she snaps, "I don't want to break the rules, either, you know, but I think threatening Muggle-Borns is far worse than brewing a complicated potion and stealing some supplies. But if you three don't want to find out who the Heir of Slytherin is, I'll just go and return this to Madam Pince right now."

Harry, Ron and I exchange disbelieving looks. Hermione Granger, persuading us to break the rules? Never thought I'd see that happen. And, in my defence, I never said anything about chickening out. Harry and Ron agree, and I point out that I never wanted to chicken out. Hermione smiles in satisfaction.

The next day, Friday, I'm at breakfast with Fred and George, when Midnight flies in, carrying a parcel. Looks like a broom. Obviously, that'll be my broomstick. In case you're wondering, I got a Nimbus 2001. Wood had to get down on his hands and knees and blatantly beg for me to get it, once he saw it on the catalogue he got me, and once I saw that the price was affordable, I agreed.

"That'll be your broomstick, then, Hazel?" Fred mutters, looking envious.

"Er, yeah," I reply, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Open it!" George declares, when it lands on the table.

Together, we rip it open, and stare at the thing in admiration, sighing dreamily in unison. Sleek and black, every twig in place. I can't wait to fly this thing. Fred lets out an envious moan.

"You're so lucky," he murmurs.

"Can I have a go on it? After class. Just once?" George asks.

"You might as well, Knight. That's the closest they'll ever get to owning a broom like that," a cold voice drawls.

I recognize it at once. Malfoy. I clench my fists, and with gritted teeth, turn around, and see his pale, pointed face. I wonder, if before this moment, or after, will he be off planning more attacks on Muggle-Borns? I suppose we'll have to wait a month to find out.

"May I help you, Malfoy?" I say, in a cold, strained voice of calm.

"Oh, no, not at all. Just to tell you, though, you can do much better than the Weasleys," he says, winking at me.

Woah, woah, woah. Back the bloody hell up. Is Malfoy, is Draco Malfoy, potential heir of Slytherin - the one who's hated me since he met me - flirting with me? Oh, I hope not. But Fred and George, apparently under the same impression, stand up, and Fred puts and arm around my shoulders, almost defensively.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Malfoy?" he demands.

"Oh, did I make you jealous? Is she your girlfriend? I always thought you'd go out with Potter, Knight," Malfoy drawls.

"Shut it! Now, you better tell us why the bloody hell you're here or I'll hex you," George tells him threateningly.

"Now, now. Play nice. I was only commenting my opinion," Malfoy points out, with a maddening smirk. "If you must know, I'm here for you Knight, so I'd appreciate it if you two," he points at Fred and George, "left."

"You would, would you?" Fred snarls. "Too bad that's not happening."

"Exactly," George adds, crossing his arms, and Fred's pressure on my shoulder increases slightly.

I beam at them. My little twins really care about me, don't they? I feel really loved right now. It's a good feeling, I can tell you that. But I turn back to Malfoy, scowling at him.

"Whatever you can say to me alone, you can say to me with these two here, Malfoy," I inform him stubbornly.

"Well, I only wanted to say that if you ever got tired of these two," he remarks, pointing at Fred and George in turn, "you're more than welcome to be with me. Assuming that you ditch the rest of your friends. And change your entire personality. I didn't want to say it, but it's a nasty piece of work. But at least you're pretty."

"Why you little-" Fred and George begin, but I cut them off.

"Forget it," I interrupt. "He's not worth it. Now," I add pleasantly, turning back to Malfoy, "if that's really all you wanted to say, I suggest you leave now."

"All right, I'll go," Malfoy surrenders. "Good luck at the match tomorrow, Knight. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

"But you're Seeker. You won't be anywhere near me!" I blurt out furiously.

"I could always get the Beaters and the other Chaser to get at you, couldn't I? Don't worry though, I won't." Malfoy assures me.

I open my mouth furiously to retort, but I calm myself down, and lightly say with a pleasant smile, "Thanks, Malfoy. I'll really take that to heart."

He smirks at me and struts away, glancing back one last time to give me that arrogant raised eyebrow look. I roll my eyes, and, since Fred has taken his arm off my shoulder, sit down, put my broom on the ground next to me, and resume eating as though nothing had happened. But I know that Gryffindor has to destroy Slytherin tomorrow.

"How could you be so calm around that git?" Fred asks in awe, going back to his own food.

"Well, he hadn't said anything to provoke me enough to the point of thinking it's worth the detention. I wanted to hit him, but I controlled myself." I reply, shrugging.

 

The following Saturday, I wake up early, feeling nervous. I stay in bed for about an hour, before getting dressed, and going downstairs. The entire Gryffindor team is there at the long, empty table, none of them eating much. I don't feel like eating much, either. We finally go down to the pitch, and I look up at the sky. It sort of looks like it'll rain. With some thunder, maybe. I love thunderstorms. They calm me down. I know, it's a little weird. Don't judge me!

Oliver gives us a little pre-match pep talk, and puts a lot of pressure on Harry. We walk out onto the pitch, and hear a lot of noise. Mostly cheers, but there is howling from the Slytherins. I can hear the Slytherins screaming about when they think I'll fall off my broom. I roll my eyes, and ignore them. On Madam Hooch's count, we fly into the air.

We fly through the sky, and Angelina, Katie and I move in sync, after so many practices. But the Slytherins manage to get at us. As soon as it starts to rain, making it harder than ever. Slytherin's leading 60 to 0. This is ridiculous. We need to catch up. But I see something that takes my mind off of this.

Harry, being chased by a Bludger. Fred and George are wacking it away from him, but it goes back to Harry, as though Harry was some sort of Bludger magnet. That's not right. That must have been tampered with! But by who? I watch worriedly for a while, until Wood shouting at me brings me back to my senses. Quidditch game. We're losing by 60 points. Right. Let's do this.

"Angelina, Katie, 154!" I yell.

We had made up a sort of code that tells us what play to use. 154 means that Angelina feints to the left hoop, but passes to Katie at the last minute, who gets all the attention on her, leaving me open to score. They nod, and we do the play perfectly. The Quaffle flies through without a problem. We high five each other. The rain becomes heavier, making it harder to see, and I'm soaked to my skin. But I'd have to be delusional to think that'll call off the match.

I dimly hear Katie yell 152. I think for a moment, and remember that's when Katie passes to me, then I pass to Angelina, she passes it back, and we do a sort of zigzag form, and once everyone is focused on us, we pass to Katie, leaving her open to score. This goes perfectly as well. Another clean shot. 60 to 20. We're catching up.

It's just as Katie scores Gryffindor's third goal, that I notice Malfoy dive down under the pitch, then Harry, followed by that insane Bludger. Well, that won't end well. I calm myself down, shout 134 and go back to focusing. Another goal for Gryffindor.

I'm flying towards the hoops, Quaffle tucked tightly under my arm, when suddenly Marcus Flint slams into me so hard that it's all I can do not to fall off my broom. I regain my balance, but the Quaffle drops and is caught by Adrian Pucey. He shoots off for the Gryffindor end, a green and silver blur with his Nimbus 2001, and shoots it through. 70 to 30.

Suddenly, Malfoy flies up from under the pitch, and lands hard on his back. Ouch. That must have hurt. I wonder what happened. Harry flies up from under the pitch, following a golden blur that must be the snitch, followed by the Bludger. harry stretches out for the Snitch, his hair stuck to his face because of the heavy rain, but the Bludger hits him right in the arm. Oh, I hope he's okay! He looks like he's in extreme pain, but leans to catch the Snitch anyway. Harry catches it, then crashes to the ground. Good thing that it wasn't a big drop. Hermione, Ron and Hagrid run towards him, as Lee Jordan yells about how we won. We've won! Woo! I land and run to Harry. The Bludger starts going after him while he's on the ground, and Harry's just able to dodge.

"Finite Incantatem!" Hermione shouts, and the Bludger explodes.

We can always count on Hermione to save the day, can't we? I run towards him, and worriedly ask if he's all right. He shakes his head, grimacing, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lockhart running towards us. This can't be good.

"No, I think it's broken," Harry mutters.

"Not to worry, Harry, I will fix this arm of yours straight away!" Lockhart insists earnestly.

"No, not you," Harry protests, and I grin slightly. He has his priorities straight.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about," Lockhart insists.

"Professor, maybe it's best if we take him to the hospital wing," I cut in anxiously.

"Nonsense, Ms. knight. _Brackium Emendo_!" Lockhart casts, and there's a sound of something liquefying.

Lockhart turned Harry's arm into rubber! I knew we should've just taken him to Madame Pomfrey! I look away in disgust when Lockhart flips Harry's hand all the way backwards. That's just gross. And unnatural.

"Come on. Let's just take him to the hospital wing now." I suggest bracingly, with a pointed look at Lockhart.

Once at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey feeds him some weird sort of drink called Skele-Grow. It looks rather disgusting. And I suppose it is, because the moment Harry takes a sip of it, he spits it out over his bed, making the people standing at the foot of his bed clear off.

"Well, what did you expect, pumpkin juice?" Madam Pomfrey snaps.

Ron, Hermione and I stay with Harry until Madam Pomfrey forces us to leave. i suggest that we work on the Polyjuice tomorrow, in a very quiet voice so that nobody hears but them. Hermione agrees immediately, but Ron hesitates slightly before agreeing. Obviously he's still awry about this entire plan. Oh, he shouldn't worry. It'll be fine. I hope.

 

The common room is nearly completely empty, with only a few people inside here and there. Hermione and Ron decide to go to bed, and bid me goodnight. I, on the other hand, am not the least bit tired, so I lay down on the couch, eyes closed, my head on my hands, thinking about whatever comes to mind. After a little, I have the distinct feeling that I'm being watched. I open my eyes and fall off the couch in shock.

Fred is standing over me with the weirdest and creepiest smile you could ever imagine. As soon as my face hits the ground, he bursts into fits of hysterical laughter. I roll over so that I'm at his feet. To help myself up, i put a lot of weight from my hand onto his foot. I pretend to scowl at him.

"If you were trying to hurt me, it didn't work. You're too light for that," Fred says, still laughing.

"That wasn't funny, Fred! You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!" I exclaim, trying not to smile.

"That's the funny part!" he retorts, bursting into a fresh, new wave of laughter.

I give a very unwilling laugh. Then I realize the fact that we're being very loud. And the way Fred's laughing more than a little hysterical. This must be a very weird sight. I look around the common room to see their reactions - which must be priceless - to see that the common room is empty. how long had I closed my eyes for? That reminds me. How long has Fred stood over me?

"How long have you been standing over me like a creeper for, just out of curiosity?" I ask casually.

"Calm down, I wasn't watching you sleep,  _that_ would be creepy," Fred replies. "Only for a couple of seconds. I was waiting for the common room to be empty. I couldn't let cool people see me doing that. I've got a reputation to protect!"

He says the last part as though it's a very important thing. I laugh, knowing that Fred couldn't care less. He just came up with the idea when everyone was gone.

"Of course," I say, sitting back down. "Some Quidditch match, huh?"

"Yeah, I can't believe that Bludger acted like that," Fred agrees, sitting down next to me. "They never go after one person specifically. They just go wherever they're directed or whoever's nearest."

"Strange," I muse. "That of all the people it could've chosen to go after specifically, it picks harry."

"What do you mean?" Fred asks suspiciously.

"Think about it," I reply. "Harry gets some warning from a house-elf telling him not to go back to Hogwarts, the platform seals itself - and I don't think that was coincidence. Nor do I think it was because of Ron or me - and the some rogue Bludger goes after him? Need I remind you that there were thirteen others on that pitch? Fourteen, actually, including Madam Hooch. It can't all just be coincidence. All these events have got to be links one way or another. But how is the real question."

"Hm," Fred mutters. "Well, think back. What do you remember Dobby saying specifically? Maybe that'll give us a clue here."

"He said something about bad things happening at Hogwarts..." I murmur. "And he really didn't want Harry to go back. He almost looked like his entire life depended on it..."

"Do you think he sealed the barrier? Or tampered with the Bludger? Both would be more likely." Fred concedes.

"I suppose he could've... he seemed desperate enough," I decided, "bit he'd have to know that Harry got away... and while I can see him sealing the barrier, I can't imagine how he'd be able to get to Hogwarts. I thought you couldn't apparate in or out of Hogwarts grounds... and wouldn't he have to take care of his family or whatever house-elves do?"

"House-elves can apparate inside Hogwarts grounds. It's one of those special bits of magic they can do," Fred explains. "And as for the whole taking care of his family thing, he can always leave for some periods of time. He did to see Harry, didn't he? Besides, it wouldn't take long for him to apparate in, sneak into the place where the brooms are kept, enchant the Bludger and disapparate."

"I suppose it could be him," I say, after a moment of thought, "but, I suppose we can celebrate. His plan to kill Harry didn't work."

"Yeah, I suppose. Let's just hope he doesn't give any other attempts. Hey, I was thinking of a brilliant prank to play," Fred tells me devilishly.

"That involves?" I ask, smirking mischievously.

"Oh, not much, really. Just some green hair dye, and our favourite blonde haired, rat faced little Slytherin," he replies, his smirk broadening.

"You had be at green hair dye," I inform him promptly.

"Brilliant!" he says, grinning. "I suppose we should plan tomorrow when George is awake. He'll want to get in on this, too."

"All righty," I say, grinning, then lean back on the couch, smiling vaguely.

"Oh, no," Fred says, when I close my eyes. "You're not going to sleep on me, Knight. That's no fun!"

I laugh. I can't help it, he sounds like a little five year old. We start talking, laughing, and teasing one another. You know, the usual. After a little, Fred puts his arm around my shoulder, as though he's not even aware that he's doing it. I glance at his hand, then at him, my eyebrows raised.

"Won't your girlfriend be upset?" I tease.

"Who?" Fred asks, looking confused. "Last time I checked, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Angelina! You guys have been flirting with each other for ages!" I say in exasperation. "Don't you reckon she'll be a little upset that you have your arm around another girl, not to mention an ickle Second Year like me?"

"Oh, calm down. I don't reckon we're as much together as we used to be. If we were really together at all... besides, it's not like I'm snogging you or anything. I've only got my arm around you. Honestly, Knight, calm down."

"Just because I'm saying something that counters your opinion, doesn't mean that I'm not calm," I point out, "I'm only saying, that girls get jealous easily. Especially when they see the guy they like with another girl."

"Oh, really?" Fred asks, eyebrows raised.

"Really," I repeat serenely. "When guys get jealous, it's actually a little cute, but when girls get jealous..." I let out a long, low whistle. "Let's just say it can be more violent than a goblin war..."

"Really. Well, I find that to be a little hot. I don't think I'll mind it if I ever see that..." Fred mutters.

"You- shallow- prat!" I exclaim, punctuating every word with a blow.

"Hey, I'm only saying! It's not like I only go after looks," Fred says defensively.

"Really? What else do you go for, then?" I ask disbelievingly.

"A little something called personality, my dear Hazel," Fred replies, "you know, I want her to be funny - but of course, she'll need to be serious sometimes. I'll need someone to calm George and I down so that we don't get thrown into Azkaban. But, of course, nobody  _too_ serious. I don't want a party-pooper. Smart, she's got to be tough, kind - but still won't mind some pranking now and then - a cool person to be around, fun-loving, nobody too into school and all that, and has more on her mind than what most girls seem to have - you know, clothes and make-up and all that rubbish. That reminds me, nobody too mushy and into that whole unbelievable romance thing. I'd also prefer her to be in Gryffindor and into Quidditch, but it wouldn't be a deal-breaker."

"Wow," I say in awe and disbelief, "who knew that you were actually deep enough to like a girl for more than just their looks! I'm proud, Freddie!"

"Why, thanks, Hazey!" Fred says sarcastically.

"Hazey?" I repeat in disbelief.

"Yeah, it's my new nickname for you!" Fred replies, as though this should be obvious.

"That's a type of weather. 'Oh, yes, it's going to be a little hazey, too, because of all the fog'," I mumble.

"Well, too bad, because that's my nickname for you and there's nothing you can do about it!" Fred exclaims. "So, ha!"

"Right, well, I'm a little tired," I say, yawning, "I'm going to bed. G'night, Fred."

"Yeah, I reckon I should get to bed, too," Fred agrees, "Night, Knight!"

I smile at his form of saying goodnight, get up, and walk across the common room to the girls dormitories. Hermione sitting in bed, reading a book. Of course. Classic Hermione. She looks up at me.

"How come you've come so late? You're usually up here earlier than this," Hermione asks.

"Oh, I was only talking to Fred," I reply, shocked that she actually knows me enough to know that.

"Oh, really?" Hermione asks, raising an eyebrow and closing her book. "Alone?"

"Yes," I say suspiciously, changing into my pyjamas. "Why?"

"Well, I've had quite the theory for a bit now, but it really depends on what you talked about," Hermione answers, and when I say nothing, adds, "Well? What did you talk about?"

"Er, I'll tell you in the morning," I say, more suspicious than ever. "I'm really tired right now."

"All right. Goodnight, Hazel," she says, with a bit of a smirk on her face.

"Goodnight, Mione," I reply.

"Mione?" she repeats in disbelief.

"Yeah, it's your new nickname! D'you like it?" I ask,

"I suppose it's all right. Mum and Dad call me that sometimes. I suppose I'll allow you to say it, too," Hermione concedes.

"Oh, thank you for your kindness to allow me to call you Mione, your highness," I say, pretending to curtsy.

"Very funny," she mutters. "Now, goodnight. And you better tell me in the morning!"

"All right, I will, keep your hair on! G'night, Mione," I say.

I sink into bed, and wonder what Hermione's theory is. Well, it obviously has to do with Fred. Why else would she bring it up now? But what theory could she possibly have that involves Fred? I wonder for a while longer, but eventually drift off to sleep.


	17. Hermione's Theory and Some Flashbacks

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Seventeen: Hermione's Theory and Some Flashbacks**

 

When I wake up in the morning, I see Hermione walking over to my bed. Probably to wake me up. I suppose I've woken up earlier than I usually do. I sit up and smile at her.

"Morning, Mione," I greet cheerfully.

"Morning," she says. "Well, it's certainly a nice change that I won't have to wake you up."

"Oh, shut up," I say, grinning, and head over to the bathroom.

When my teeth are brushed, my hair is combed, and I'm in my uniform, I go out to meet Hermione. She stares at me expectantly for a few moments, before speaking.

"Well? Are you going to tell me what you two talked about or what?"

"Oh, yeah, that," I mutter, having forgotten all about that. "I'll tell you once we're in the you-know-where, that way there's no chance of anyone overhearing. Not that there's anything to hide about the truth, but you know as well as I that Parvati and Lavender can turn just about anything to a huge and untrue rumour. And we can start making the you-know-what at the same time."

"Fair enough," Hermione agrees. "Let's go."

We walk down the spiral staircase to the Gryffindor common room. There are only a few people here and there, most of them leaving, probably to go to breakfast. Fred and George come out of the door to the boys' dormitories, and wave at me. I wave back, and Fred mouths, 'prank planning?'.

'Later,' I mouth back.

When I look back at Hermione, she has a wide, all-knowing smirk on her face. What the hell is that about?

"What?" I ask. "Can't a girl say hello to two of her best ginger friends?"

"Nothing, its nothing," she insists, but still smirks.

"Should we go wake Ron up?" I ask, mostly to change the subject. "I don't see him here..."

"He might already be at breakfast," Hermione concedes, "but we should go check. If he's not awake, then let's leave him a note and let him sleep."

"All right," I agree. "We should have a note ready, though."

I find a quill and some spare bit of parchment and write a hurried note:  _Ron, Hermione and I are either at breakfast or in the you-know-where with the you-know-what. We decided to let you sleep instead of waking you up. See you whenever you wake up. Oh, and this is Hazel, in case you haven't already figured it out._

"I'm pretty sure he'll be able to figure out that it's you, Hazel," Hermione points out as we quietly head upstairs.

"Hey, you never know," I insist.

"Right," she mutters.

We quietly open the door and creep into the door that's labelled "Second Years". What I see nearly makes me laugh out loud. Half of Dean's body is hanging off his bed, mouth open slightly. Seamus is muttering things about Banshees with an expression of pure horror on his face. Looks like somebody is having a nightmare. Neville is holding his pillow as tightly as a scared baby would hold their teddy bear, and Ron was curled up in a perfect ball under his blankets, smiling and muttering some sort of song under his breath. It's hilarious to see them like this when they'd normally act all tough. Well, in their defence, I suppose Neville never acts tough, and Ron doesn't around spiders.

I hurry over to Ron's bed, and put the note on the bedside table. I read it over one more time to make sure that Dean, Seamus or Neville wouldn't be able to get anything out of the note. Nope. If they were to read it, they wouldn't have a clue what I'm talking about. I hurry back to Hermione, and we quickly and quietly head back downstairs.

After a quick breakfast, we hurry to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Hermione looks at the cauldron in the middle of the bathroom. Then back at me with a determined look on her face.

"First order of business," she begins, "we need to get the ingredients. Now, we can get most of this from the student stores, but we'll need to nick a few things from Snape's private stores..."

"All right, give me the list, and I'll go get them," I tell her, beginning to stand up, since I have the most experience at this sort of thing.

"No, Hazel, I think I should go," Hermione disagrees.

"Why?" I ask; I didn't think she'd be so willing to go.

"Because, you've already gotten in trouble for one serious offence," Hermione explains, "you'll only be able to get away with those pranks you do with Fred and George. but if you get caught stealing from Snape's stores, you'll be expelled for sure. As far as extreme offences go, I've got a clean record. They won't expel  _me_. And besides, I already know the ingredients we need off by heart."

"All right, fine," I agree, sitting back down, "if Snape is there, make up some excuse about Potions question and then come back later - we might need to nick all of this at night time - but it shouldn't be necessary, because I'm pretty sure he's still at breakfast. Also, if you hear someone coming, there's a secret passageway three feet away from the left of Snape's desk. Just tap it three times with your wand and it'll appear. That'll be your best chance out."

"And if I'm in the storeroom and I hear someone come in?" Hermione asks, as if they thought had just occurred to her.

"Hide, stay silent for as long as possible, and hope for the best," I reply, shrugging.

"Right, I'll be back in a bit with everything we need." Hermione mumbles, waves, and leaves the bathroom.

I wait in silence, fidgeting a lot. Moaning Myrtle floats by, moaning and groaning about who knows what, but I learned long ago not to ask what's wrong with her. Or to even try and make conversation with her in the first place. It always ends badly. I have personal experience to prove that.

Last year, I was hopelessly lost. I was running around, trying to find where the Charms classroom was, because I had forgotten  _again_. I wasn't friends with Hermione at the time, and Harry and Ron were already on their way to Charms, since I had forgotten my stuff in the Great Hall, and had told me to go on without me. Panicking, I walked into this bathroom, hoping for it to be the Charms classroom. Of course, it wasn't, and I found Moaning Myrtle looking at me with an accusing look on her pearly whit face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "Don't you have to be in class or something?"

"Er, that's the thing," I answered nervously, "I was trying to get to Charms, but I've gotten myself lost  _again_. I'm always getting myself lost, since I'm rather forgetful. Do you think you could tell me where it is?"

"WHY SHOULD I?!" Myrtle had yelled. "WHY SHOULD I HELP YOU, WHEN NOBODY BOTHERED TO HELP ME WHEN I WAS ALIVE? IN FACT, EVERYONE WOULD TEASE ME AND HURT MY FEELINGS! IT TOOK THEM AGES TO FIND ME WHEN I DIED! SO, WHY SHOULD I HELP YOU?!"

"People would hurt your feeling? Why, that's awful!" I told her sympathetically, thinking that could get me in her good books. Wrong.

"I KNOW IT'S AWFUL! But did they care? NO! I bet you'd think it was funny, too!" Myrtle exclaimed, bursting into tears and diving down one of the toilets.

I stood there in utter shock until I heard the bell ring. I hurry outside, wondering what was wrong with that ghost. I looked around hopelessly, trying to find my way, and just ran off in a random direction until I bumped into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm in a bit of a hurry, and I wasn't watching where I was going and-" I began hurriedly, scrambling to get up.

"Well, that much is obvious," a familiar voice replied.

I looked up and saw that I had run into none other than Fred Weasley. Fred Weasley who I still hadn't completely made up my mind on yet. I smile sheepishly.

"Why is it that whenever I see you, you've either fallen, are about to fall, or have recently fell?" he teased, grinning. "Not nervous around me, are you?"

He said the last part with a wink. I rolled my eyes at him. It was true, of course. Fred always seemed to find me at the wrong times. Never when I was calm, cool, and when my funnier-and-not-as-shy side was out, but when I was particularly clumsy, quiet, or somewhat awkward. It was starting to get a little embarrassing.

"What can I say, being clumsy is one of my best qualities," I replied.

"Right, of course it is," Fred laughed. "So, what are you doing here? I would've thought that you would've been hurrying off to whatever class you have right now. I wouldn't think you would be roaming the halls after the bell rang."

"Well, I do have Charms right now, but I can't find the classroom," I admitted, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, I see," Fred said, smirking at my hopelessness. "Well, why don't I show you where it is. After all, there are few people who know this castle more than me."

"Really, and how is that so?" I ask curiously.

"Oh, no need to worry yourself on it," he said, waving my question off. "Now, come on."

"But won't you be even more late to class?" I said, not wanting him to be late because of me.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Fred insists airily. "Fred Weasley, pranking extraordinare, is at your service. And besides, I have Transfiguration next, maybe if I explain, McGonagall'll give me points for helping out a helpless First year."

"I'm not helpless!" I protested indignantly.

"Maybe not in other areas, but right now, it'll take you a long time to find the Charms classroom, and we're wasting time as we speak. So, you are a little helpless at the moment."

"Whatever," I snapped.

"Hey, don't be rude, I'm the one trying to help here!" he insists.

"Fine," I accepted reluctantly.

"Come on, then," Fred said, taking my wrist and dragging me through the corridors.

He lead me up staircases, and through corridors, until, finally, he stopped outside a door. He let go of my wrist, and bowed grandly, as though addressing royalty.

"There you are, your majesty. Charms class," Fred said, "I hope you found my services helpful."

"They were okay. Not the greatest, though," I teased, laughing.

"I'm hurt," Fred replies sarcastically, "well, I must get going. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," I said, and hurried into the classroom, preparing an apology and explanation to Flitwick.

Fred. It's so hard to describe Fred. I mean, I suppose it's easy to get the basics of him, but then he always complicates the basics until you feel like you hardly know him. He's mental and impulsive with his prank ideas, but then he's sensible at other times. he's kind, but he's got this sort of harsh side to him. He can be the best friend you will ever have, or the west enemy you could ever make. You can get along with him perfectly well, but then end up in this huge argument the next moment.

Finally, I can think of one word that completely describes Fred Weasley. Unpredictable. Fred Weasley is unpredictable. And it's both amazing, and entertaining.

"Hazel!" an exasperated voice partly whispers, partly yells, making me jump.

I look up from the bit of the floor I was looking at, and see that Hermione is crouched in front of me, snapping her fingers in front of my face, and looking exasperated.

"Hermione! Bloody hell, when did you get back?!" I say in shock.

"About five minutes ago! It only took me ten minutes to get the things and get back!" Hermione replies.

"I've been daydreaming for nearly fifteen minutes? That's a record if you don't include during class," I point out.

"What were you daydreaming about," Hermione asks curiously, as she places the ingredients around the cauldron, and opens  _Moste Potente Potions_ to the page on Polyjuice Potion.

"The day I first met Myrtle," I reply.

"What happened?" she inquires.

"Oh, I was looking for the Charms classroom last year. I didn't know my way around very well, and I was all alone because we weren't exactly friends yet, and Ron and Harry left without me, because I had forgotten my stuff in the Great Hall and told them to go on without me while I got it. So, basically, I was lost. Since I was panicking, I went in here, hoping it was the Charms classroom-"

"You do realize the Charms classroom is about seven floors up from here, right/" Hermione interrupts.

"Well, I know that  _now_ , but I didn't  _then_ ," I point out, "anyway, I went in here and found Myrtle. I tried asking her for help. Let's just say, it didn't go too well. It ended with her yelling at me, bursting into tears, and diving down one of these toilets. So, after the bell rang, I ran out of here, and quite literally bumped into Fred. After a lot of him being a funny git, he lead me to the Charms classroom, he went to Transfiguration, and we all lived happuly ever after."

I end the last bit lie you would end a fairy tale. But then I remember Myrtle. One, she isn't exactly alive, is she? And she's not very happy, either.

I look around to make sure Myrtle isn't here, and quietly add, "Except for Myrtle, of course," in her ear.

Hermione laughed, but then quickly covered her mouth and looked around, a guilty expression on her face. She clearly feels bad about laughing.

"We shouldn't laugh at her," she whispers, "you know how sensitive she is."

"All right, have it your way, then," I agree, shrugging.

"Speaking of Fred, are you going to tell me what you lot talked about or what?" she asks impatiently.

"I suppose I might as well now," I reply, shrugging again, "well, nothing interesting, really... Well, the conversation started when I lied down on the common room couch and closed my eyes. When I opened them some time later, I saw Fred standing over me like a creeper. That scared me to death, that did. We teased each other for a bit. We talked about the Quidditch match, all these strange things happening to Harry... Er, what else was there? Oh, yeah, we talked about a prank. We teased each other and joked around a bit more. And he put his arm around my shoulders. So, to tease him, I asked him if his girlfriend would be upset - by girlfriend, I mean Angelina Johnson-"

"-Obviously, everyone says that they have a thing going on, but apparently, it's dying out a bit-" Hermione interjects.

"Yeah, Fred told me that, too," I agree.

"He did, did he?" Hermione asks, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, but what does that matter? Anyway, I told him that girls getting jealous can be more violent than a goblin war, while guys getting jealous is kinda cute-"

"-too true," Hermione laughs.

"I know, right? Anyway, Fred started being a but shallow, so I told him that it seemed like all he cared about was looks. So then he told me what kind of personality he liked in a girl. And then he gave me a weird and stupid nickname of 'Hazey' and I reckon that's about it." I concluded.

"What did he say he likes in a girl?" Hermione asks.

"Why do you care so much? Does someone like dear Freddie?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"Oh, God, of course not! But it has to do with my theory," Hermione replies.

"Can you please tell me what this theory is?" I ask.

"After," Hermione answers.

"Please?" I plead.

"After you tell me," she repeats.

"Please?"

"After."

"Please?"

"All right, fine! I think you and Fred would make a cute couple."

There's complete silence. You could hear a pin drop. Then, the silence is filled by me bursting out laughing. I laugh quite loudly for a long time until Hermione covers my mouth with her hand.

"Shut up, Hazel, you'll get us caught," she hisses, taking her hand off my mouth.

"I'm sorry, Mione, but that was a good one," I say, giving her credit.

When she doesn't smile, but continues to look at me seriously, my smile slowly fades. Is she being serious? She can't be. Me and Fred, a couple? I can hardly imagine it.

"You're serious?" I ask in disbelief.

"Of course I'm serious; because you would!" she insists.

"But- but me and Fred... we're best friends! We- we- we're like siblings! We can't make a cute couple! That'd be weird!"

"Weird or not, it's true," she says, shrugging, "but it does depend on what Fred looks for in a girl. So, go on and tell me."

"Oh, he said that he wants someone smart, but not too into school; funny, but can be serious; tough; kind, but doesn't mind pranking; fun-loving, a cool person to be around; not into what most girls seem to have on their minds all the time - you know, clothes, make-up, and all that mushy, romance stuff. And he's prefer someone into Quidditch and in Gryffindor, but it wouldn't be a deal-breaker," I reel off, somehow managing to remember all of it.

"Hazel," Hermione says, dropping the bit of lacewing flies she was holding.

"What?" I ask.

"Fred pretty much described you," Hermione tells me, picking up the lacewing flies again.

"No he didn't!" I disagree.

"Yes, Hazel, he did. You're one of my best friends, I know what you're like. And you're exactly like that!" she insists.

"But-but, we still wouldn't! We're just too... ugh. I don't know what word to use. But we wouldn't!" I argue.

"Whatever you say," Hermione says in a singsong voice, "But  _I_ say you do."

"Oh, yeah?" I ask. "If we would make a cute couple, and he really did just describe me, how come he didn't flat out say, 'I fancy you'?"

I feel satisfied with my argument, until Hermione replies, as though this should be obvious, "Because, Hazel, like you, he hasn't realized that the two of you are perfect for each other. Don't worry, though, both of you will both come to your senses eventually."

"Yeah right," I scoff disbelievingly.

"Really!" Hermione insists. "It may seem hard to believe now, but I can see it happening. In, say, twenty years, when you're both in your thirties, you'll have around three kids, successful jobs, it'll be a happy life for the entire family-"

"Oh, shut up, Mione!" I interrupt, elbowing her lightly. I can feel myself blushing.

"See, you're blushing! Why would you blush if you didn't like him!" she points out triumphantly.

"Because, it's a bit of an awkward and embarrassing topic for me," I answer, "wouldn't you blush if I went on about how you and Ron would make a cute couple?"

"Shut up, Hazel," Hermione says, blushing a bit, too, "we would not."

"You're blushing! So obviously, you like him," I counter, mimicking her tone.

"Touché," she says reluctantly.

At precisely that moment, Ron comes in. Hermione blushes more than ever, and I burst out laughing once more. Ron look at us like we're completely mental.

"What the hell is going on?" he asks.

"Nothing," Hermione says hurriedly.

When Ron looks at me, eyebrows raised, I repeat, "Nothing."

"All right," he says, unconvinced, and leans against the wall, "How far along are we with the Polyjuice?"

"Well, considering that it'll take a month to make, and we just started today, not very far," I answer cheekily.

"Right, right," Ron mutters, looking down at his feet. "Hey, Hazel, how did you and Harry become friends? I mean, I know you were neighbours and all, but I doubt that you just bumped into each other and said, 'Hey, let's be best friends!'."

"Not much of a funny, weird story, really," I reply, "and it actually did start with us bumping into each other... let's see... this was seven years ago, mind you, so excuse me if I don't remember some things. All right, I think it was some time in August, so we were both five. Now, I was running out of my house, because that's what I used to do whenever Candy - my cousin - would insult me, because I didn't know how to retort. Or maybe I just didn't have any nerve until I was around seven. Anyway, I was running, and I bumped into Harry. We both fell, and started apologizing like crazy at the same time. We're both rather polite people, even when we were raised by horrible people. i had been crying - I wiped my tears before running out - but you could still see where the tear tracks were, and my eyes were a little red, I think. He asked why, so I told him all about the Martins-"

"You told him? Just like that?" Ron asks in disbelief.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because, you never talk about your aunt, uncle and cousin easily," Hermione answers.

"I was overly-trusting when I was five. We all are, if we're completely honest with ourselves. Anyway, I told him, and then he told me about the Dursleys. We pretty much bonded over that. And you know how fast and easily five year-olds can make friends. At first, we were a little shy and tentative around each other, but after a while, we were the best of friends. We'd talk about anything. We'd pretty much go to each other for anything. We were something of a family, you could say. And that's how we became friends."

"How who became friends?" a voice asks, entering the bathroom.

I nearly have a heart attack. I jump, scramble up to my feet, and stand up. When I see that it's only Harry,  relax.

"Harry! You scared me to death!" I exclaim.

"That much is obvious," he says, shrugging and sitting against the wall.

"How's your arm feeling?" Ron asks.

"Stiff, but at least all the bones are back," Harry answers, "how who became friends, Hazel?"

"You and me," I reply simply.

"Oh, yeah," he says, smiling slightly at the memory. "That feels like forever ago..."

"Well, it was seven years ago. That's a pretty long time," I point out.

"Right," Harry mutters. "Listen, I've got something to tell you guys."

And so he tells us all about Dobby visiting, and how he blocked the barrier, and bewitched that Bludger. So Fred and I were right! And how Dobby said that history is going to repeat itself. And about Colin Creevey being petrified, and Dumbledore confirming that the Chamber of Secrets has, in fact, been opened. Again.

"Again?" Hermione repeats. "So the Chamber's been opened before?"

"Yes, don't you see?" Ron cuts in. "Lucius Malfoy must have opened it when he was at school. And now he's told Malfoy how to do it."

Really? Lucius Malfoy looks younger than sixty-something. But I suppose it's possible...

"Maybe, but we'll need the Polyjuice to know for sure," Hermione says.

"Enlighten me, you two," Ron suddenly says, nodding at Hermione and I. "Why again are we brewing this thing in broad daylight... in the middle of the girls lavatory? Don't you think we'll get caught?"

"No," Hermione answers, laughing a bit. "Nobody ever comes in here."

"Why?" Ron asks.

"Because of Moaning Myrtle," I reply.

"Who?" Harry inquires.

"Moaning Myrtle," Hermione and I repeat.

"Who's Moaning Myrtle?" Ron asks.

"I'm Moaning Myrtle!" Myrtle says, appearing out of nowhere and gliding high up on top of the sinks. "Wouldn't be surprised if you didn't know me. Nobody ever pays any attention to miserable, ugly, moping, moaning Myrtle!"

And with a high pitched wail of despair, she shoots up through the air, and dives through a toilet. Harry and Ron look at the spot that Myrtle was moments before in disbelief. Hermione and I just continue with the potion as though nothing had happened. We're quite used to it.

"She's a little sensitive," Hermione tells them, once they look back around.

"Today's actually one of her better days," I add.

A little later, we pack up our stuff, and head for the Great Hall for lunch. In the Entrance Hall, there's a sign about a Duelling club starting later today. I look at Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"You guys going?" I ask.

"Yes," Hermione says immediately and it's obvious why; Lockhart's supervising it.

"I guess," Harry says slowly.

"Maybe," Ron answers.

"I think I will," I say, "but then again, this is hosted by Lockhart."

"But we'll need to defend ourselves since the Chamber of Secrets has been opened!" Hermione insists earnestly.

"But Lockhart's in charge of us. Will we really learn that much?" I muse.

"Of course! Look at what he's done!" Hermione says.

"What he says he's done," Harry, Ron and I chorus.

"All right, I'll go," I add.

"So will I," Harry and Ron add.

Hermione looks distinctly pleased as we walk into the Great Hall.


	18. Duelling Club

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Eighteen: Duelling Club**

 

"So, how should we do this?" George asks.

"Sneak into their common room at night?" Fred says.

"Put it in his drink?" I suggest.

"I say our best chance is to sneak it into his drink somehow," George decides, "since we don't know the password, and therefore, things will be a little more complicated."

"But how are we going to put it in his drink without anyone at the Slytherin table knowing?" Fred points out.

"Well, we'll need a distraction," I reply, stating the obvious.

"No, Hazel, really?" George says sarcastically.

"We though that all we needed to do is just walk up to him and put it in his drink during dinner while everyone's watching," Fred finishes.

"I'm only saying," I mutter defensively.

"I've got it!" Fred exclaims suddenly.

"What?" George and I ask.

"We'll go down to the kitchens, and tell the house-elves to make sure they put some of it in  _his_ drink. They control what goes where, and they can see where everyone sits. And they listen to whatever we say. They'll do it!"

"That's brilliant!" George agrees.

"Wait, there are house-elves in Hogwarts?" I ask.

"Yeah, there are loads. They do the cooking and cleaning for the entire castle," Fred answers.

"How come I've never seen them, then?" I ask.

"Because they do their job well," George replies, "you're not supposed to see them. Trust me, you're not the only one who didn't know there're house-elves here. A lot of people go through their entire seven years without knowing. We only know because we see them whenever we go down to the kitchens to nick some food."

"Are you sure they'll do it, then?" I ask nervously. "I'm pretty sure putting things into someone's drink isn't a part of their job description."

"Trust me, they will. They listen to just about anything we say," Fred assures me.

"Well, if you're sure," I accept.

"It's settled, then," Fred announces cheerfully. "Now all we have to do is make the potion."

Now that's two potions I'm secretly making. One is for entertainment, the other to see whether or not a student is threatening the lives of innocent Muggle-borns. And, coincidentally, they're both aimed at exactly the same person. Draco Malfoy.

"It's nearly eight o'clock, we should go down to the Duelling Club," I advise, so we stand up, and head for the Great Hall.

"How much of a rubbish Duelling Club instructor d'you think Lockhart's going to be," George asks.

"I'll bet everything I have that he'll be as good as a Duelling Club instructor as he is a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," I reply, "so, pretty much, a horrible one."

"Damn it, Hazel, I was going to bet that," Fred says indignantly.

"Haha," I say mockingly.

We entire the Great Hall, and stand beside Harry, Ron and Hermione. Shortly after we arrive, Lockhart strides in the middle of a sort of stage, smiling grandly at us.

"Gather around, gather around. Can everybody see me? Can everybody hear me?"

"Does anyone really care if they can?" I mutter, and Fred and George laugh.

"All of his little fangirls do," Fred whispers back.

"Excellent!" Lockhart continues. "In light of the dark events that have recently taken place, Dumbledore has granted me to form this little Duelling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves, like I myself have done on countless occasions - for full details, see my published works. Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape, who has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration."

Snape walks up the steps of the stage, arms crossed, and looking particularly sulky. Just as Snape usually does.

"Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry - you'll still have your potions master when I'm done."

"One, I'm not worried about either of them. Two, if I was, I would be worried if you would still be around after this 'short demonstration', judging by the look on Snape's face." I mumble, and Fred and George grin and nod in agreement.

Lockhart throws off his cloak, and throws it to the crowd. A bunch of girls catch it, and one of them holds it to their face like one would hold a teddy bear. I shake my head at them. At Lockhart's count, he tries to fire a spell, but Snape counters.

" _Expelliarmus_!" Snape cries, and Lockhart goes flying back several feet.

"Do you think he's all right?" Hermione asks worriedly.

"Who cares?" Ron asks, laughing.

"An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape," Lockhart acknowledges, getting up quickly and regaining his composure, "but if you don't mind me saying, it was pretty obvious what you were going to do, and if I wanted to stop you, it would've only been too easy."

Of course it would've... I roll my eyes at him. Who does he think he's kidding?

"Perhaps it would be prudent to first teach them how to block unfriendly spells, Professor," Snape suggests, smirking.

"What an excellent idea, Professor," Lockhart agrees. "Let's have a volunteer pair. Potter, Weasley, how about you?"

"Weasley's wand causes devastation with the simplest of spells," Snape interjects, "He'll be sending Potter home in a matchbox. Might I suggest someone from my own house? Malfoy, for instance?"

He turns around, and walk swiftly down the stage. When he passes Malfoy, he jerks his thumb in Harry's direction, and Malfoy scrambles up the stage. Lockhart mutters something to Harry, and walks away.

"Wands at the ready," Lockhart instructs.

"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy sneers.

"You wish," Harry retorts, and I smirk. You tell him, Harry!

"On the count of three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent - and only to disarm. We don't want any accidents here. One, two-"

Before Lockhart can finish counting, Malfoy points his wand at Harry and yells, " _Everte Statium_!"

Harry goes flying back several feet, and lands on the floor with a thud. Crabbe and Goyle laugh, but, I, on the other hand, squint to see if he's okay. Luckily, he gets up, looking uninjured, and ready to fight back. I smirk again.

" _Rictumsempra_!" he says, it's Malfoy's turn to go flying back.

Snape picks him up and puts him back on his feet roughly, and pushes him back toward Harry.

"I said disarm only!" Lockhart exclaims, but he's completely lost control, once again.

" _Serpensortia_!" Malfoy cries, and a snake bursts out of Malfoy's wand.

"Don't move, Potter, I'll get rid of it for you," Snape says casually, walking forward.

"Allow me, Professor Snape," Lockhart offers. Oh no. " _Alarte Ascendare_!"

The snake rises high into the air, then falls to the ground. Angrier than ever, it turns its head so that its level, and facing, Justin Finch-Fletchley. Justin stands there in utter fear and shock, then Harry steps forward and does the weirdest thing. He opens his mouth, but instead of talking, he makes a bunch of weird hissing noises. The snake seems to understand, but doesn't listen. Harry tries again. The snake finally turns away and hisses at Harry. What the hell is going on?

" _Vipera Evensca_!" Snape says, and the snake bursts into flames.

Hermione nudges me, and points from Harry to the door. I understand immediately. I mutter a quick goodbye to Fred and George and hurry off. None of us talk until we arrive at the common room.

"You're a Parselmouth? Why didn't you tell us?" Ron asks incredulously.

"I'm a what?" Harry says confusedly.

"You can talk to snakes," Hermione explains.

"I know," Harry informs. "I mean, I accidentally sent a snake on my cousin Dudley once." and seeing Ron and Hermione's expressions, he quickly adds. "One! But, so what? I'm sure loads of people here can do it!"

"No, Harry, they can't," Hermione says earnestly. "It's not a very common gift, Harry. This is bad!"

"What's bad?" Harry asks. "If I hadn't told that snake not to go after Justin-"

"Oh, so that's what you told it!" I interrupt.

"You were there! You heard me!" Harry exclaims.

"We heard you speaking Parseltongue. Snake language?" Ron says.

"I spoke a different language?" Harry asks, and when Ron and I nod, he adds, "but how could I speak a different language without knowing it?"

"I don't know, Harry, but it sounded like you were egging the snake on or something," Hermione says. "Harry, listen to me. There's a reason why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent. Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth. He could talk to snakes, too!"

"Exactly! Now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-grandson, or something," Ron explains.

"But I'm not... I can't be!" Harry protests.

"He lives a thousand years ago, Harry," Hermione points out. "For all we know, you could be..."

"Come on, you guys. Harry can't be Slytherin's heir," I protest, "for one thing, he's in Gryffindor. Wouldn't Slytherin's heir be in Slytherin? For another, Slytherin's heir would be a pure-blood, but I'm pretty sure Hagrid said that Harry's mother was Muggle-born. Which makes you a half-blood. And, in case you haven't noticed, Hermione, you're a Muggle-born! Wouldn't he despise you if he was off petrifying Muggle-borns all the time?"

"Even so, there's no proof of anything you said, Hazel," Harry suddenly says, "I might be his heir and that's all there is to it."

"But-"

"We're only saying it's possible, Hazel," Hermione interrupts.

"Fine, but I'm only saying!" I snap.

Harry, the heir of Slytherin? Harry is physically, mentally and emotionally incapable of doing horrible things to people. How could anybody with a brain think he's the heir of Slytherin? We need to hurry up with that Polyjuice, that way, we might be able to prove who's  _truly_ the heir of Slytherin.


	19. Let's Prank This Boy

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Nineteen: Let's Prank This Boy**

 

A few days later, we're in the library studying. People keep staring at Harry. Ah, so they believe that Harry's the heir of Slytherin. Idiots. I swear, it's obvious to anyone with an IQ as high as  _bread_ that he's not the heir of Slytherin... I'm the only one who doesn't keep sending him weird glances. Harry, who's sitting next to me, elbows me slightly, causing the 'Y' I was making to turn out to be all messed up.

"Damn it, Harry! What do you want?" I snap, taking out my wand to siphon the ink.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"Oh, never mind, I can fix it easily. I actually overreacted just a tad..." I say. "Anyway, what is it?"

"Does it-" Harry begins, then looks around quickly, then leans in closer and lowers his voice, "does it look like people are staring at me? Because I have the feeling they are, and they always look away quickly when I turn to look at them..."

I look around discreetly, and do, in fact, see quite a few people looking at Harry, as though trying to read his mind and see which Muggle-born he's off to petrify next. Even Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are staring at him! At least  _they_ don't look so accusing, unlike some Hufflepuffs behind us that are looking at him hatefully and accusingly. I shake my head at them in exasperation, and turn back to Harry.

"Well- er- yes, but it's probably just that whole Parselmouth thing," I assure him quietly. "Don't worry, Harry, they'll get over themselves eventually, you'll see."

"Right, right," Harry mutters, and goes back to work, still looking unconvinced.

I go back to writing my Potions essay. Just to let you know, I'm doing a lot better at Potions now. Though I did have a lot of help from Hermione... Not the point, though, it's still a major achievement for me! After a little longer, Harry, who didn't seem to have managed to ignore all these people string at him, closes his book with a snap.

"I'll see you back at the common room," he mumbles, and walks out of the room.

"What's wrong with him?" Ron asks, as soon as Harry's out of earshot.

"It isn't him, it's everyone staring at him," I explain. "You know, because of the whole 'Heir of Slytherin' thing. It's all utter rubbish. Hopefully they'll see it soon enough."

"Oh, well, I understand why he's mad," Hermione concedes, "if everyone was accusing me of something so horrible, I'd be furious."

"Should we go talk to him?" Ron asks,

"No, we should let him be alone for a bit," I reply, shaking my head. "Leave him to think."

"All right," Hermione and Ron say in unison, and go back to work.

I'm about to continue myself, when I hear one of the Hufflepuffs speak, and given mu natural  ~~nosiness~~  - I mean, curiosity - I can't help but listen to what they're saying. Hey, I think they're talking about the Chamber of Secrets, this might be interesting!

"So, anyway, I told Justin to hide in the dormitory for a few days," a blonde haired, stout boy says, "I mean to say, if Potter's marked him as his next victim, he'll need to lie low for a couple of days. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter that he's a Muggle-born."

"You definitely think it's Potter, then, Ernie?" A blonde haired girl in pigtails asks.

"Hannah, he's a Parselmouth," the stout boy informs solemnly, "everyone know that's the sign of a Dark Wizard! Have you ever heard of a decent one that could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-Tongue!"

"Harry always seems so nice, though," Hannah protests, "and, well, he is the one who made You-Know-Who disappear, so he can't be that bad, can he?"

This Hannah girl is defending Harry. I like her. Or, at least, I like her a hell of a lot more than I like this Ernie person. He, it seems, doesn't have an IQ as high as bread.

"No one knows how he survived the attack," Ernie whispers mysteriously, so that I have to strain my ears to listen, "I mean, he was only a baby. He should've been blasted into smithereens. That's probably why You-Know-Who wanted him out of the picture in the first place. You know, he didn't want another Dark Wizard competing with him."

At this point, I can't take it any more. I have to speak up, or I might go insane with fury. I mutter a quick 'I'll be right back,' to Ron and Hermione, stand up, walk over to where the Hufflepuffs are, and sit down casually next to Ernie.

"Why, hello," I greet pleasantly.

"Er- hi," they all mutter, looking awkward because they know I'm best friends with Harry.

"I hope you don't mind, but I really couldn't help but overhear what you lot were talking about," I continue.

"Oh is- is that so?" Ernie asks.

"Yes, that's so. And, I thought I'd let you know that I don't agree with it. At all," I inform them, my tone still light and casual, my smile pleasant.

"Why's that?" Ernie asks, suddenly defensive.

"Because, anyone with a brain can see that Harry isn't the Heir of Slytherin. For one thing, he's best friends with a Muggle-born," I point out, jerking my head towards Hermione.

"Oh, yeah? Well, explain how he egged that snake on to attack Justin! If he's not the Heir of Slytherin, why would he do that?" Ernie argues.

"Simple. He didn't egg that snake on. He called it off. Rather obvious, once you think about it," I counter, "though, I will admit that, for a second, it did look like he was egging that snake on. But, once you use that thing in your head called your brain, you can tell that he was calling it off."

"He's a Parselmouth!" Ernie exclaims. "How many decent Parselmouths have you met, huh?"

"None," I admit, "Harry's more than decent. He's a great person. Once again, use your brain."

"I hear he hates those Muggles he lives with," Ernie changes the subject swiftly.

"Oh, please," I argue, "it's impossible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them! I'd like to see you try it! In fact, I hate them, and the Muggles I live with, but you're not going on about how  _I'm_ the Heir of Slytherin, are you? So, that argument, like all of your other ones, is completely invalid. And, no offence to you or anything, but what you're saying about my best friend is really annoying."

"Really? Well, don't go off to your  _best friend_ and tell him to petrify me! Because he only goes after Muggle-borns and my blood is as pure as anyone's, and you can even check if you wan-"

"I don't give a damn about what type of blood you've got! And neither does Harry!" I snap, losing my temper, "And if you had _any_ brains, you could see that! I've countered you against every argument you've made - which already didn't make any sense and were completely invalid - so you've got no damn reason to think that Harry's the Heir of Slytherin! Honestly, the answer is right in front of you, but either you are too blind, or too ignorant - hell, maybe both. I wouldn't doubt it considering how stupid you're acting right now - to see it! Why the hell would someone like Harry - Harry freaking Potter, for crying our loud! - want to hurt Muggle-borns?!"

There's a silence at my words. I don't usually lose my temper, so I'm a bit surprised at this, but I continue to glower at Ernie furiously. Suddenly, Madam Pince appears out of nowhere.

"What do you think you're doing, girl? This is a library! A place for quiet, peace and serenity!" she snaps. "Out! Get out now!"

"I was just leaving myself, don't worry yourself," I tell her, storm past her to get my stuff, and shove them in my bag haphazardly.

"I'll see you guys later," I mutter to Ron and Hermione, and storm out of the room.

I walk through the castle quickly, still fuming. How dare he say all these things about Harry? Does he have a brain? Well, the answer's obviously no, but still! The stupid, foul, little bas-

"HOLY HELL! WHAT THE CRAP?!" I scream, as two pairs of hands grab me and lift me onto two different shoulders.

I hear laughter, and know immediately that it's Fred and George. I roll my eyes at them, but, in spite of myself, smile. They can always manage to do that. How, I'll never know.

"Holy hell?" Fred repeats, laughing.

"What the crap?" George adds, his voice quivering from laughter.

"Well, when I've been scared to death, I don't really take too much notice on how well I string my words together!" I snap. "Now put me down!"

"Now thanks, we're good!" Fred declines. "Anyway, we heard your little spaz attack you had on that Ernie person-"

"-well, to be fair, you were yelling. It would be extremely difficult not to hear," George points out.

"-and, I have to admit, I'm impressed. I didn't know you could lose your temper like that! It was bloody wicked!" Fred finishes.

 "Oh, gee, thank you for your praise. That totally makes me feel less angry," I mutter sarcastically.

"Well, maybe that didn't, but-" George begins.

"-I think we know what will," Fred concludes.

"Oh, really, and what's that?" I ask.

"The potion's ready," George answers simply.

"Oh my God! Brilliant! Why didn't you just start with that?!" I ask excitedly.

"Told you it'd cheer you up," George mutters, and they start running, so that I have to cling on to them by the neck to stay on.

"Bloody hell, slow down before I fall off!" I demand.

"Never!" they reply, and go faster than ever.

"Okay, if you're going to run so bloody fast, can at least one of you piggyback me., that way I'm at less of a risk of falling?" I ask.

"All right, fine, I'll do it," Fred offers, and then, without putting me down, manages to get me on his back.

"How the hell did you do that?" I ask.

"Talent, my dear Hazel, you should get some," Fred suggests.

"Hey!" I say, pretending to look highly affronted.

"Hello!" Fred and George say cheerfully, in unison.

"Hilarious," I mutter sarcastically, as we arrive at the portrait hole.

After saying the password, we hurry inside the common room, and upstairs to the boys dormitories. George grabs the Potion, and we all smile mischievously.

"To the kitchens, then?" I say.

"To the kitchens," Fred and George repeat, and we run downstairs, me still on Fred's back.

"You have to tickle the pear to open the door, you see," George explains when we arrive at a large portrait of a bowl of fruit.

"Interesting..." I murmur vaguely, as the pear giggles and the portrait swings open.

What I see is shocking. Dozens of house-elves, the tallest probably not going any higher than my waist, scurrying around a kitchen, with a layout similar to the Great Hall's. The moment one sees us, it hurries forwards.

"Masters Fred and George, what a pleasure to see you!" a particularly short, female house-elf greets, "and Masters Fred and George has brought a friend. Who is this?"

"Oh, Hazel Knight, er, I didn't quite catch your name?" I say, jumping off Fred's back, and standing beside him.

"Pearlie's name is Pearlie, Mistress Hazel," the house-elf names Pearlie greets. "What can Pearlie do for you?"

"What we want you to do, Pearlie, is to put this in Draco Malfoy's drink tomorrow at breakfast," George replies, handing her the bottle. "As much as you can without making it obvious. Can you do that for us, Pearlie?"

"With a pleasure, Master George," Pearlie answers happily. "Pearlie will do all that she can do to put this in the drink of Draco Malfoy."

"Thank you," I say, smiling kindly at her. "Well, I guess we'll be goi-"

"Oh, not so fast!" Fred interrupts, "Do you mind if you can give us some food, Pearlie? Before we go?"

"Fred, they're clearly busy right now," I mutter, gesturing around at the scurrying elves, "We should probably just-"

But as I speak, about half a dozen elves rush toward us, each carrying a tray with delicious pastries. "'Tis no trouble, Mistress Hazel," Pearlie insists, "we house-elves are pleased to serve you."

"Oh," I say, slightly stunned, "well in that case-"

I take a bunch of the pastries. Fred and George give me knowing looks. I stick my tongue out at them before beginning to eat one of the pastries. Once we had eaten ourselves full, and had taken some for the road, anyway, we bid the house-elves goodbye, and walk out.

"I like those house-elves," I announce, after eating a chocolate éclair.

"Obviously you do, they gave you food." Fred points out. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were in love with them after that."

"That's not the only reason! They're very nice, too!" I insist. "And a lot happier than Dobby is... but I suppose that's just because of his masters..."

I mutter the last part so quietly that Fred and George don't hear.

"Right, sure, we totally believe you," George says sarcastically.

"Anyway," I say, "I have a new prank idea! Or, at least, a new target."

"Let me guess; that Ernie bloke?" Fred says.

"How did you know?" I ask, genuinely shocked.

"Because you yelled at him not one hour ago," George answers.

"Oh, right," I mumble. "But still, you can't deny that the git deserves to be pranked!"

"True," Fred and George agree, and Fred adds, "So what should we do?"

"I dunno, I haven't worked that part out yet," I admit.

"I suppose we can work on it now," George decides.

"Lovely," I say, and stuff another chocolate éclair in my mouth.


	20. Polyjuice Potion

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Twenty: Polyjuice Potion**

 

Time has flown, my dear friends, and now it's Christmas break. Christmas Eve, to be exact. It seems like only yesterday, Fred, George and I were laughing at our successful prank on Ernie. But, it was, in fact, a week ago. If you're wondering, this lovely prank of ours included a potion that made warts sprout all over his face, and made him say insults to himself whenever he opened his mouth. Oh, good times. Thank you, Pearlie, for putting that in his drink. Speaking of Pearlie, operation Turn-Malfoy's-Hair-Green was a complete success. Although, both of them just went straight to a professor, and not only did they get fixed up, but we got two weeks detention. Prats. Don't they have any sense of humour?

So, why don't I get you all caught up? One thing, after seeing how many people think that Harry's the heir of Slytherin, Fred and George keep joking around and saying things like, "Make may for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through!" or "Move, he's off for a cup of tea with his fanged servant." I love them sometimes. Don't tell them, though. Anyway, Harry doesn't mind, since he knows they're only having a laugh. Ginny and Percy, on the other hand, don't find it amusing. I'm surprised at Ginny, since she has a great sense of humour. Neither does Malfoy. But maybe that's because Harry's getting credit for his dirty work. We'll need the Polyjuice Potion to know for sure. And it's nearly ready.

On Christmas day, Hermione wakes me on the cold, white morning, earlier than I would've liked. Only because it's Christmas, I don't mind too much.

"Happy Christmas, Mione," I greet cheerfully.

"Happy Christmas, Hazel," she returns, throwing me my present.

I look through my trunk to find hers. Finally, I find it. A book on Arithmancy, a subject Hermione heard about, and told me she was excited to learn about next year. I toss it to her, before opening my own present. It's a book. Typical Hermione. But when I flip through it, I realize it's a very big notebook. I flip through the pages, wondering what I should do with it. I'm not the Diary keeping type. Oh, well, I'll find some sort of use for it.

"Thanks, Hermione!" I say.

"No problem," she replies. "I  _was_ going to get you the book  _How to Realize That You and Fred Weasley are Actually Perfect for Each Other, But You Were Both Too Stupid to Realize It,_ and  _How to Finally Get Together and Get Marries and Do All That Stuff Everyone Knows'll Happen Eventually Except You Two at the Moment_ , but Flourish and Blotts ran out of all their copies."

"Shut up, Hermione," I laugh, blushing.

"I'm only saying, you two are perfect for each other," Hermione insists.

"Really? Well, don't tell Ronald that," I say.

"Why not?" Hermione asks.

"Because, he's Fred's brother! Not to mention one of my best friends! It'll be awkward," I exclaim.

"Well, as you and Fred are going to go out, and get married and have kids and all that, it'll be hard for you to keep that from Ro-"

"Oh, shut up already," I interrupt, laughing and blushing more than ever.

"All right, all right..." Hermione says. "Well, the Polyjuice is just about ready. We just need to do some last minute things and add the hairs. Now, you have Parkinson's hair, don't you?"

"Yup," I reply, showing her a tiny bottle, containing a thick, dark black clump of hair.

"Hazel, you do realize that you only had to get one hair, right?" Hermione asks.

"Yeah, why?" I say.

"You took a huge chunk of her hair out!"

"Well, I tried only taking one piece out, but then it kind of snowballed, and I ended up with a whole clump and running like the wind to get away from her before she turned around or noticed that a clump of her hair was gone!" I say defensively.

"Right, come on, let's go add a few things to the Potion," Hermione says, so we walk over to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

After about an hour of adding Lacewing flies, Hermione announces that the Polyjuice will be officially fit for use tonight. Finally! We go back to the common room, and upstairs to the Boys Dormitory to inform Harry and Ron of our wonderful feat.

"HAPPY CHRISTMAS!" I announce loudly, as Hermione pulls the curtains open.

"Hermione, Hazel - you're not supposed to be up here-" Ron says, shielding his eyes from the light.

"Happy Christmas to you, too," Hermione says, as we both toss them our presents.

"And besides, I've been up here before and you didn't have a problem with it then," I point out. "It's only because we woke you up early."

"Whatever," Ron mumbles.

"We've been up for an hour, adding lacewing flies to the potion. It's ready now," Hermione informs them.

"Are you sure?" Harry asks, sitting upright.

"Positive," Hermione replies, sitting on Ron's four-posters. "And I say if we're going to do it, we should do it tonight."

"Right, the sooner we find out, the closer we are to finding out who the Heir of Slytherin is," I agree.

The Christmas dinner is the best thing ever, and, even though I'm dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later, and doing the riskiest thing I've done in a while. I can't help but enjoy myself. The Great Hall looked as amazing as ever, and the food, of course, is brilliant. Dumbledore lead us into a round of Christmas carols, and I, in my usual Santa hat, can't help but laugh at Hagrid, who gets louder and louder as he drinks his eggnog. Fred bewitches Percy's prefect badge to read 'Pinhead' and Percy can't understand for the life of him what we're sniggering at.

Harry, Ron and I were barely finished our third helping of pudding, when Hermione rushes in, and ushers us out to finish up our plans of the evening.

"Get the chocolate cakes," Hermione mumbles to me, and I nod.

I hurry upstairs to the Gryffindor common room, up to my Dormitory, and search through my trunk. I find a small box. I open it, and with a satisfied smile, see the two plump chocolate cakes that I had made the other day. Meanwhile, Hermione made a simply sleeping solution for me to inject into them. Now, all we need to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them, and eat them. That way Harry and Ron can take some of their hairs. Simply enough.

I'm back with Harry, Ron and Hermione while she explains the plan. They look incredulous.

"Hello. What've I missed?" I ask.

"I've just told them that they need to get the hairs. But not exactly how," Hermione answers, "would you like to do the honours?"

"Er, why not?" I reply. "So, Hermione and I've got it all worked out. Well, it was Hermione's idea, but I sorted out all the little possible problems and all that. Anyway, you see these?" I ask, holding up the two plump, little chocolate cakes. "We've filled these with a simply sleeping solution - simply, but powerful. All you two need to do is make sure that Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're bound to eat it. Once they're asleep, pluck out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom cupboard."

"Hazel, I don't think-"

"That could go seriously wrong-"

"The potion is useless without Crabbe and Goyle's hair," Hermione insists, with a McGonagall air about her. "You do want to interrogate Malfoy, don't you?"

"Oh, all right," Harry mutters. "But what about you two? Who's hairs are you ripping out?"

"We've already got ours!" Hermione replies brightly, holding up her own tiny bottles, while I get my own our. "Millicent Bulstrode. She's gone home for the holidays, so all I need to do is say that I decided to come back!"

"Who're you turning into, then?" Ron asks me.

"Pansy Parkinson," I reply, taking out my own bottle from my pocket. "She's left too, so all I need to do is say I've come back for one reason or another."

"Why the hell did you rip out so many hairs?" Ron asks.

"Everyone sort of snowballed, all right? Don't judge me!" I exclaim.

"Calm down, there, woman, I was only wondering," Ron mutters.

"Right, Hazel, you should probably go and get the robes now," Hermione tells me.

"All right, see you in a bit," I say. "This shouldn't take longer than ten minutes, tops."

"Bye, then," Hermione says, as I hurry off for the laundry room.

I enter the laundry room, and look around quickly. Okay, it's empty. Time to steal some Slytherin robes. I go around from basket to basket, looking for robes that could possibly belong to Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Crabbe, and/or Goyle... Nothing. All the Slytherin robes look too small to fit any of them. Which means I can only do one thing. I have to break into the Slytherin common room. Well, this should be easy...

I quietly slip down to the dungeons. Then look around helplessly. Where do I go now? I hear quiet footsteps, and hide behind a statue. It's a Slytherin! Brilliant! I follow quickly and quietly, willing myself to not make any sort of sound. I'm lucky, and I don't. Whenever he turns over his shoulder for whatever reason, I shrink into the shadows right on time, always prepared to do so.

We arrive at a short, blank, stretch of wall, and the Slytherin mutters something I can't hear. The wall reveals a stone door, and I open it a crack and slip through it just in time. Throwing myself on my hands and knees, and crawling quietly behind couches, I make it to one of the doors, and go inside, crawling up a short but steep spiral staircase, praying nobody is in here. I slip into the one labelled Second Years, which is blissfully empty. By looking through a few drawers, I realize that it's the girls' dormitories. I quickly find uniforms that could belong to Parkinson and Bulstrode. I throw them over my shoulders, grab some shows, and creep downstairs.

A door a little way over must be the boys' dormitories. I go down on my hands and knees, just as someone comes in. But they seem to have seen me.

"Who's there?" the voice of Draco Malfoy asks.

I swear violently in my head, but don't say anything. Instead, without daring to make any sort of sound, no matter how quiet, I crawl inch by inch over to the door to the boys' dormitories. I hear Malfoy's footsteps getting horribly close. I crawl faster, and more desperately, grab the doorknob, and ease it open enough so that I can slip through. Unfortunately, the door makes a creaking noise, that's just barely audible. Damn it!

"Whoever's there, I will find you, and you'll be in terrible trouble when Snape finds out there's a trespasser in the Slytherin common room!" Malfoy threatens. "You better show yourself now!"

Instead, I crawl through, close the door, stand up, and run for dear life up the stairs, trying to be as silent as possible all the while. Doesn't work out to well. I'm positive Malfoy can hear me. I turn the corner just as Malfoy flings the door open, yelling, "Aha, you're trapped now!"

I hear him sprint up the stairs, and fling myself inside the door labelled Second Years. I'm getting those robes or die trying!

"I've got you now!" Malfoy's voice declares, and desperate, I throw myself under a random bed.

I pull a clump of my long hair away from sight, as Malfoy opens the door and walks inside. I go on my back, and cross my fingers, praying in my head that he won't find me. He walks around, taunting me in his usual cold drawl.

"Now, where are you?" he concedes, "I know you're in here..."

I see his foot stand right next to the bed I'm under, and panic as he says, "Are you under here?"

Panicking, I launch myself away from the bed, and shimmy to another one. I peek out for a millisecond to see that Malfoy's bent over the bed I was under seconds before. I have to repeat this process of crawling from bed to bed, until I'm back at the bed I was originally under, barely making it each time. My heart beating wildly, I wait until he walks a little longer.

"Maybe they managed to leave the room..." Malfoy mumbles to himself, then leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

I stay where I am for a while longer, checking to see if this is some sort of trap. When he doesn't burst through the door again, I crawl from under the bed, sighing in relief. Well, that was a close one. No where are those robes? I go through random drawers until I finally find uniforms that are so big, they must belong to Crabbe and Goyle. Not to get the hell out of here without Malfoy seeing me.

I open the door a bit, and stick my head out, looking up and down the hall, and thankfully, Malfoy isn't there. But one of the doors is ajar, which must mean he's searching in there. I open the door enough so that I can go through, and go down the short, steep spiral staircase as fast as I can without making any noise. I open the door a crack, and find that the common room is empty.

Before anything can happen, I run like hell across the room, run through the door, and don't stop running until I reach the Entrance Hall. I slow down, and consider how lucky I actually am. I could've easily been see so many times. At that moment, I realize how late I must be. I told Hermione that I'd be there in ten minutes at the most. That must've been at least thirty minutes... I jog over to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, open the door, and enter the bathroom.

"Well, here you go, Slytherin robes. I went through a lot to get them, but I got them, all right," I say, throwing the robes on the ground.

"What took you so long?" Hermione demands. "What happened to 'this should take ten minutes, tops!'?"

"Well, there weren't any Slytherin robes in there, so I had to follow a Slytherin, sneak into their common room, and get some from their dormitories," I explain.

"What! Do you realize how easily you could've gotten caught? You're bloody lucky you weren't caught!" Hermione exclaims.

"But I got the robes, didn't I? And in the matter of an hour, we might know who's  _truly_ the Heir of Slytherin," I point out.

"True," Hermione agrees, as Harry and Ron come in.

"What are those?" Ron asks, pointing at the Slytherin robes.

"Oh, they're just some pieces of parchment," I reply sarcastically. "They're the Slytherin robes, you dolt. I had to nick them from the Slytherin common room."

"Why did you just get them from the laundry?" Harry asks.

"Because there weren't any in the laundry," I answer simply.

"Ah," Harry says.

"All right, we should change right now, that way we'll fit into the clothes we're wearing once we change," I advise.

We each go into a stall, and change into our robes. Parkinson's robes are about three sizes too big on me. But it won't be once the transformation's done. I go outside, and see that both Ron and Harry are out. All that's left to do is wait for Hermione. She comes out a second later, and she gives us servings of the gross looking potion to each of us.

"Now, remember, we'll each have an hour before we change back into ourselves," Hermione reminds us. "Cheers,"

We each add the hairs and drink the potion. Ron drops the glass immediately, and goes to one of the stalls to barf. Hermione follows shortly after. Harry and I are the only ones who completely finish our potion.

"Come on, guys," I call after them as I finish my potions, "It isn't that-"

But at that moment, I feel vomit rushing up my throat. I drop the glass, and sprint for a stall, nearly tripping on my way. I burst into the nearest one, and throw up. I retch until there's nothing left, and when I wipe my mouth with my sleeve, I notice something weird. My arm is thicker than it was before. I look down and see that my entire body is a little wider than before. I run my fingers through my hair, and run out of hair too quickly. My hair almost reaches the mid-back mark. Yet I run out of hair at around shoulder length. I pull a clump at my shoulders to look at, and see that it looks wavier. I also notice that my robes and shoes actually fit. At that moment, I realize that the Polyjuice has been successful. Good to know.

I walk out of the stall and meet with the others. Yet, I only see Crabbe and Goyle. It takes me ten seconds to remember it's only Harry and Ron. This is insane.

"Harry?" Goyle, who I suppose if actually Ron, asks, "Hazel?"

"Ron?" Harry and I say in unison.

"Bloody hell," Ron mumbles.

"Hey, where's Hermione?" I ask.

"Hermione," Harry calls, going to the last stall in which Hermione went in, "Come out, Hermione."

"I don't think I'm going," Hermione replies.

"Look, we know Millicent Bulstrode is hideous," Ron begins, "but nobody's going to know it's y-"

"It's not that," Hermione insists, "Just go."

"Mione, what's wrong?" I ask.

"Just go," Hermione insists. "You're wasting time!"

"Come on," Harry says grudgingly. "And try to sound like Goyle and Parkinson, you still sound like yourselves,"

"Right," I mumble, and we head out of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Which way's the Slytherin common room?" Ron asks.

"This way," I answer, and gesture for Harry and Ron to follow me.

"How do you know?" Harry asks.

"I broke into their common room not one hour ago," I reply simply.

"Oh, right," Harry mumbles.

We make it to the dungeons, and are not that far from the common room, when we're stopped by Percy. Damn it.

"What are you d-" Ron stops mid-sentence, then makes himself sound thicker. "What are you doing down here?"

"I happen to be a school prefect," Percy begins, and I roll my eyes. Here we go. "You, on the other hand, have no right wandering the corridors at this time of night. What are your names again?"

"Uh," I reply blankly. Well, at least I'm being as stupid as Parkinson.

"Crabbe, Goyle!" Malfoy calls, appearing at the other end of the corridor. "Where have you been? Pigging out in the Great Hall for all this time?"

Harry and Ron nod earnestly, and Malfoy struts over. I can't believe I'm saying it, but I'm quite relieved to see Malfoy. For once in my life. He glances at me for half a second, then looks back around in surprise.

"Pansy, what are you doing here?" he asks. "I thought you were going to Paris?"

"I was, but, um, my dad had a last minute, urgent Ministry thing to do," I invent wildly. "So we couldn't go."

Good enough. I mean, it looks like he's buying it.

"Why are you wearing glasses?" Malfoy asks Harry.

"Reading," Harry replies quickly, putting them in his pocket.

"Reading?" Malfoy repeats. "I didn't know you could read."

Just goes to show how well Malfoy knows his friends... After a few disrespectful remarks to Percy, Malfoy leads us to the Slytherin common room, his arm around me. Disgusting. I think I prefer when Fred does it... Just goes to show how much I hate Malfoy, then, doesn't it, because I feel more than a little awkward when Fred puts his arm around me. That, and something else. Can't place the name, though... Not important. At all. Especially right now. Once in the common room, Malfoy flops onto one of the leather couches, and looks at us expectantly.

"Well, sit down," he says, and I sit down uncomfortably on the edge of Malfoy's couch, "You'd never know the Weasleys are pure-bloods, they way they behave. They're an embarrassment to the wizarding world, all of them!"

Ron looks furious, and Harry has to nudge him to remind him that he's not himself. Ron makes up an excuse of having a stomach ache to a suspicious Malfoy to get him to change the subject.

"I'm surprised the  _Daily Prophet_ hasn't done a report on all these attacks," Malfoy tells us. Brilliant. The subject we're here for. "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. Father always said that Dumbledore is the worst thing that ever happened to this school."

How dare he?! Dumbledore is probably the  _best_ thing that ever happened to Hogwarts!

"You're wrong!" Harry says angrily.

"What?" Malfoy asks maliciously. "You think there's someone who's  _worse_ than Dumbledore? Well? Do you?" _  
_

"Um, Harry Potter?" Harry suggests, gulping.

"Good one, Crabbe," Malfoy agrees, without even smiling... "You're absolutely right. Saint Potter. And people actually think that he's the heir of Slytherin!"

"Well, you must have some idea of who is," Harry says.

"You know I don't, Goyle. I told you yesterday. How many times do I have to tell you?" Malfoy asks in exasperation. "Is this yours?"

He's holding up a tiny present box. When Harry, Ron and I all shake our heads, Malfoy looks around discreetly and slips it into his pocket. Little prat.

"But I do know this," he continues casually. "It's been fifty years since the Chamber's been opened. He wouldn't tell me who, but he did say this: the last time it was opened, a Mudblood died. So, it's only a matter of time before a Mudblood dies now. As for me, I hope it's Granger."

At this point, I'm taking deep breaths to calm myself down, and Harry has to grab Ron and make him sit back down, because he stands up to lunge himself at Malfoy.

"What's the matter with you three?" Malfoy asks. "You're acting very - odd!"

"It's his stomach ache," Harry explains quickly.

"And you?" Malfoy asks, nodding at me.

"I - uh - think I'm coming down with something," I make up.

Suddenly, Harry and Ron start changing back to themselves! Ron's hair starts turning red, and Harry's scar started to become visible! By the way they're looking at me, I can tell I'm starting to change back too. Time to get out of here. We stand up in unison, and start running.

"Hey, where are you going?" Malfoy yells, and grabs the nearest person, AKA, me, since both Ron and Harry are already out of the common room. "What's going on?"

"Um, medicine, for mine and Goyle's sickness," I invent. "We wouldn't want the rest of Slytherin to get sick, too! Especially you, Drakie-Poo!"

I almost vomit at me calling Malfoy "Drakie-Poo" but, hey, desperate times call for desperate measures! Malfoy looks suspiciously at me, and I'm sure he can notice my hair growing longer, and me growing skinnier. He lets go all the same, and I run for dear life out the door.

Parkinson's shoes are too big on me, and I keep tripping, so that eventually, I take them off and carry them in one hand. When her robes start bothering me, too, I manage, with difficulty, to take them off and throw them over my shoulder, without stopping.

In the Entrance Hall, I bump into Fred and George. Oh, great. Just what I need. For them to see me, running for dear life, wearing a Slytherin uniform that's three sizes too big on me, looking desperate and worried, without any shoes on. Wonderful.

"Woah," Fred says, pulling me back by my shoulder. "Why are you running? And why the hell are you wearing a Slytherin uniform that's clearly too big on you?"

"And why do you look so worried?" George adds.

"I'll explain later, now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go," I reply, and run before they can stop me.

I burst into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and throw the shoes and robes on the floor. I cross my arms at Harry and Ron and glower at them.

"Gee, thanks for leaving me behind, you lot." I tell them sarcastically.

"Sorry, we didn't realize Malfoy had grabbed you until it was too late," Ron mumbles.

"And besides, would you have told us to stay behind, anyway?" Harry asks defensively.

"Probably not," I admit grudgingly. "But still!"

"We should tell Hermione what happened," Harry suggests, rolling his eyes at me, and walks over to Hermione's stall, "Hermione, come out, we've got loads to tell you!"

"Go away!" Hermione exclaims.

"Oh, wait until you see, it's dreadful!" Myrtle announces, looking happier than I've ever seen her. Brat.

"Do you remember me telling you that the Polyjuice Potion is only for  _human_ transformations? It was cat hair I plucked off of Millicent Bulstrode's robes," Hermione explains, turning around slowly, to show her furry face, and pointed cat ears, "Look at my face."

"Look at your tail!" Ron adds.

I smile, but nudge Ron, since I know he's only joking. But Myrtle's really getting on my nerves right now, because seeing Hermione so miserable seems to be the best thing that's ever happened to me. When she mutters some rude insults, I snap.

"Hey, here's a tip for you, Myrtle," I begin, "shut it!"

Oh, I shouldn't have said that... Myrtle looks at me in shock.

"And I thought you were nicer than the rest of them!" she exclaims, pointing at me dramatically, then bursts into tears and dives into one of the toilets.

"What?" I ask defensively, when Ron and Harry stare at me accusingly. "She was annoying me, all right?"

"All right," Harry says.

"Fine," Ron mutters.

But they both look amused. I shake my head, and roll my eyes at them, grinning. At least we learned one thing today. Draco Malfoy isn't the Heir of Slytherin. But if he isn't, then who is? That's something we  _really_ need to know, not how Lockhart supposedly defeated some banshee.


	21. It's Gone!

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Twenty-One: It's Gone!**

 

About two weeks later, Harry, Ron and I are walking through the corridors. Hermione's still in the hospital wing. Several people has asked me if she's all right once they had returned after Christmas Break, because of course, they thought that Hermione had been petrified. People kept going to the hospital wing to get a glimpse of her so much, that eventually Madam Pomfrey had to cover her with the curtains to spare her the shame of everyone seeing her with a furry face. How nice!

"Have you spoken to Hermione?" Ron asks Harry and I.

"Yeah," Harry replies, "she should be out of the hospital wing soon. Madam Pomfrey's got her coughing up fur balls..."

Harry, Ron and, in spite of myself, I laugh at that. We turn a corner and see a big pool of water. Myrtle. Why am I not surprised?

"What's this?" Harry mutters.

"Myrtle's flooded the bathroom again," I answer, rolling my eyes.

"Yuck!" Ron exclaims.

We enter the bathroom with its wet floors, and find Myrtle perched on the high windowsill, waiting about who knows what.

"Come to throw something else at me?" Myrtle sobs when she sees us.

"Why would I throw something at you?" Harry asks, confused.

"Don't ask me!" Myrtle exclaims. "Here I am, minding my own business, and somebody thinks it's funny to throw a book at me!"

"But, it can't hurt if someone threw a book at you, though, would it?" Ron points out. "I mean, it'll just go right through you."

"Oh sure!" Myrtle yells, rushing forward so that she was suddenly right in front of Ron's face. "Let's all throw stuff at Myrtle because  _she_ can't feel it! Ten points if you get it through her stomach!" At this, she punches Ron's stomach, her hand going clean through him. "Fifty if you can get it through her head!" And at that, she punches Ron's head.

"But who threw it at you, Myrtle?" I ask.

"I don't know. I didn't see them," she replies, glaring at me. Clearly, she's still upset about me snapping at her. She needs to get over it. "I was just in my U-bend, thinking about death, and then - ahh - it fell through the top of my head."

And with wailing sounds of what I think is despair, she glides away. Interesting. Harry picks up the book and flips through it, but it's completely empty. Odd.

The next day, Hermione's out of the hospital wing, completely fur-free. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I are all out in the courtyard, and Harry's explaining the most unbelievable thing ever.

"It was Hagrid," Harry explains. "Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago!"

"It can't be Hagrid," I protest. "It just can't be!"

"We don't even know this Tom Riddle," Ron adds. "He sounds like a dirty, rotten snitch to me!"

"The monster killed someone, Ron," Harry insists. "Why don't we just go and ask him about it?"

"Oh, yeah, that'll be a cheerful visit," Ron retorts sarcastically. "'Hello, Hagrid! Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy around the castle lately?'."

"'Mad and Hairy'?" Hagrid's voice repeats, and the four of us whip around to face him guiltily. "You wouldn' be talkin' about me, would yeh?"

"No!" Harry, Ron, Hermione and I reply in unison.

"W-what's that Hagrid?" Harry asks, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, Flesh-Eatin' Slug repellent. Yeh know, fer the Mandrakes," Hagrid replies. "Now, accordin' to Professor Sprout, they've still got a bit of growing up ter do. But, after their acne's cleared up, they'll be able to chop 'em up and stew 'em, and then we'll be able to get those people at the hospital wing un-petrified. But in the meanwhile, you four best be lookin- out for yourselves, all right?"

He turns and walks away, and Neville comes running forward, his round face pale and worried-looking. I wonder what that's about.

"Harry, I don't know who did it, but you better come! Quick!" Neville exclaims, and leads us over to Gryffindor tower.

Once there, he leads us up to the boys' dormitories, and up stairs to the room labelled 'Second Years'. Inside, the room is completely destroyed. Blankets are turned over, so many things are strewn over the ground. It's obvious they were searching for something. But what?

"It had to be a Gryffindor. Nobody else knows our password - unless, it wasn't a student," Hermione points out.

"Whoever it was, they must've been looking for something," Ron adds.

"And they've found it," Harry says grimly. "Tom Riddle's diary is gone."

Harry and I exchange grim glances. That isn't good. What if it falls into the wrong hands? What if it's already fallen into the wrong hands? That diary is obviously powerful. And dangerous in the wrong hands.

 

A week has passed since then, and now I'm with Fred and George in the common room, and we're teasing one another. You know, the usual. Suddenly, Hermione walks past us, with about three big books in her arms. She smirks at Fred and I. I blush a little, since Fred has my arm around my shoulder. I stick my tongue out at her, and she mouths, 'Oh, it's so icky to be with him all right!'

'Oh, you know what I meant!' I mouth back.

'Yes, I know,' she mouths, 'you love him! _And_ he loves you back! Or, at least, the two of you will eventually.'

'You're mental,' I mouth, shaking my head at her.

"What the bloody hell are you two going on about?" a very confused-looking Fred asks.

"Ugh. I'll be right back," I tell them, not answering Fred's question.

I walk up to Hermione, and cross my arms, glowering at her. She just looks back at me serenely, but she still has that little smirk on her face. I finally decide to speak.

"How many times do I have to tell you that Fred and I are not - nor will we ever be, mind you - a couple?" I ask quietly.

"As many times as you can until you realize that you will be soon enough," Hermione replies, as though this should be obvious.

"All right, fine-" I begin, but I'm cut off by Hermione.

"Oh, so you admit that you like him!" Hermione says triumphantly.

"No. Why would I say that when I clearly don't?" I ask. "What I was going to say was that if you  _must_ go on with you're incorrect theory, do it when he isn't around, all right?"

"All right, fine," Hermione agrees. "But mark my words, it will happen!"

"Don't hold your breath," I advise her, and head back to Fred and George.

"Are you going to tell us what you two are going on about, or not?" George asks impatiently.

"It's just girl stuff. Never you mind," I reply. "So, anyway-"

"Hazel, we're not three, you can tell us," Fred jokes.

"Well, you guys act like three year-olds a lot, so it's hard to tell at times," I say matter-of-factly.

"Hey, that hurts!" George says, clutching his chest in mock-pain.

"That sucks," I say, laughing.

"So, are you going to tell me what exactly this 'girl stuff' is, or not>" Fred asks.

"Not," I answer cheekily.

"Hazel," George says seriously. "We know what you might be talking about."

"You do?" I exclaim nervously.

They overheard? Did they manage to read either Hermione's or my lips? How do they know? This is something I desperately didn't want them to know! Especially Fred! I could always convince George not to tell, but Fred... It'd be pretty damn stupid trying to convince him not to tell himself!

"Yes, we do," Fred continues, "It doesn't take a genius."

"Well, that's good, since neither of you are anything close to geniuses," I joke, trying to calm myself down.

"Funny. Anyway, you should know that you don't have to hide it from us," George goes on.

"Are you mental? Why the bloody hell would I tell you guys?" I exclaim.

"Well, it's not that big of a deal, really," Fred replies. "I mean, it's only your time of the month-"

"My time of the mon- OH! Oh, God, no! That's not even close to what we were talking about! Not at all!" I exclaim.

"Oh, really?" George asks.

"Really!" I repeat.

"Oh," Fred murmurs. "Well, this is slightly awkward..."

"You think? Bloody hell, where did you et that idea from?" I ask, though I'm slightly relieved that they didn't find out.

"I dunno, it's just how secretive you were being," George points out. "And how you got a little defensive."

"And what else would we get from 'girl stuff'?" Fred points out.

"That it's just stufff that girls talk about that guys aren't interested in, perhaps?" I point out.

"Whatever," they mumble in unison.

Hastily, I change the subject to avoid the awkward moment. They look at me gratefully, before continuing my conversation on Quidditch. Yes, the best I could do was Quidditch, but at least I could change the subject!


	22. Worst. Birthday. Ever.

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Worst. Birthday. Ever.**

 

Today, my dear friends, is my birthday. I am officially thirteen years old. Woohoo! And, best of all, we have our Quidditch game today! Maybe life will allow Gryffindor to win as a birthday present to me!

I wake up, smiling. I love my birthday. Before Hogwarts, I used to like it because it meant I was one year closer to moving away from the Martins, but now, I just like it for the normal reasons once would like their birthday. I get up out of bed, and stretch, and walk to change into my Quidditch uniform. Once I'm all ready, I walk out of the bathroom. Suddenly, my vision is obscured by a large quantity of bushy brown hair. Hermione. She's hugging me.

"Happy Birthday, Hazel!" she tells me.

"Thanks!" I say, grinning. "Come on, let's go down to breakfast."

When we arrive at the common room, I've barely taken two steps when I'm quite literally tackled to the ground by two redheads. Can you guess who? That's right, Fred and George Weasley. I laugh loudly.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KNIGHT!" they yell.

"Yes, yes, thank you," I reply. "I know, I'm very loved and all that, but do you mind getting the bloody hell off me?"

"All right, fine," George says.

"Be a killjoy," Fred adds.

"Hey!" I exclaim as they get off me. "I resent that!"

"Is that so?" George says vaguely, as they help me to my feet. "That sucks fr you, doesn't it?"

"Anyway, since it's your birthday, we'll let you get away with being a killjoy," Fred tells me, "Just for today."

"Oh, you're so kind," I mutter sarcastically.

"Hey, don't be rude," George says.

"We did get you this," Fred finishes, and hands me a rather poorly wrapped squared parcel.

"Oh, what is it?" I ask excitedly.

"Why don't you open it?" George suggests.

"But that's so boring," I whine.

"Oh, just open it already," Fred says.

"Fine," I mumble, and rip off the wrapping paper.

"Well, that's one way to do it," George mumbles.

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

"Just that girls tend to take their time and preserve the wrappings and all that," Fred explains.

"That's something I like to call 'utter rubbish'," I retort. "I've never done that, nor will I ever."

"Well, that's our point, isn't it?" George points out. "ONLY girls do that."

"YOU COMPLETE PRAT, GEORGE WEASLEY!" I yell.

Several people look at me, sending me weird glances. I raise my eyebrows at them.

"Go back to your socializing!" I snap, and then look at the present. A box. "OH, YOU GUYS GOT ME A BOX! YOU GUYS ARE THE GREATEST!"

More weird glances, but this time I ignore them. Fred and George roll their eyes and smile at me.

"It's what's in the box, dummy," George tells me.

"No kidding," I mumble. "I was joking, genius."

"Just open the present, for God's sake," Hermione pipes up. "I want to give you mine, anyway. I forgot to give you yours upstairs."

"All right, fine," I mumble.

"Are you guys like this often?" Hermione asks.

"What? You mean the whole arguing-" Fred begins.

"-teasing-" George continues.

"-making the other's life hell thing?" I finish.

"Yeah, that," Hermione replies, nodding.

"All the time," the three of us reply in unison.

"Right, I'll go get your gift, then," Hermione says, and hurries back upstairs.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim, seeing what's in the box.

It's the newest prank set from Zonko's. Not to mention, there's a particularly large quantity of candy and cakes. Probably from the kitchens. Probably from Pearlie.

"I thought you'd like it," George tells me proudly.

"Are you barking?" Fred asks. "It was my idea!"

"Oh, please, you guys! I think we can all agree that it was all my idea!" Lee Jordan exclaims, bursting into the scene.

"Oh, shut up, Lee," George says.

"Yeah, you didn't even know it was her birthday until today," Fred adds.

"I'm terribly sorry, Hazel," Lee says, bowing grandly, "but as I don't know you that well, I couldn't possibly have known it was your birthday. You should blame these gits right here for not telling me!"

"All right, I blame them for a lot of stuff, anyway," I say matter-of-factly.

"So do I! High-five!" Lee exclaims, and we exchange high-fives, laughing.

"Wait. How did this go against us?" Fred asks, pointing at himself and George.

"Easy-" Lee begins.

"-we like to blame stuff on you two," I finish, and Lee and I high-five each other again.

"That's a little rude, considering that we're the ones who got you the present," George points out.

"True, thank you," I say, hugging each of them.

"Hey, don't I get a hug?" Lee asks, holding out his arms.

"Nope," I reply cheekily as Hermione re-enters the common room.

"Happy Birthday!" she tells me again, and hands me a wrapped parcel.

"Thanks, Mione," I say, hugging her quickly, and open the parcel.

It's a pair of combat boots. A wicked pair, too. I love them! I beam up at Hermione.

"Since I know how much you love those Quidditch boots of yours, I decided I should get you some real ones," Hermione tells me, grinning at my reaction.

"Thank you! I love them! In fact, I'm going to wear them right after the Quidditch match!" I promise her.

"Can we go to breakfast now?" Lee asks. "I'm hungry, and I can't commentate without eating first!"

"Right," I say, and we head down to breakfast.

The moment they see me, Harry and Ron each bombard me with hugs and happy birthdays, and hand me their presents. Shortly after, Ginny hands me a present as well. Harry's given me a photo album, some of it with pictures of the two of us, the rest to be filled out. Ron's given me a slightly battered but really interesting looking book on Quidditch, that I'm quite excited to read. Ginny's given me a box of chocolate frogs, and a small talking mirror. I hug and thank each of them.

After breakfast, I walk down to the change rooms with Fred and George. Hermione had promised that she would be there as soon as she could, but she needed to look something important up in the library. Something to do with the Chamber of Secrets. She had also asked to borrow my mirror. I wonder what that's about.

Oliver's pacing up and down the room, muttering things under his breath. For his sake, I try to look serious to show him I'm ready for this game. Once the entire team is gathered around, he begins his little speech.

"All right, listen up," Oliver begins, "we play our game, Hufflepuff doesn't stand a chance. We're stronger, quicker, and smarter."

"Not to mention, they're dead scared that Harry'l petrify them if they fly anywhere near him," Fred points out, grinning.

"Well, that too," Oliver agrees. "Professor McGonagall."

I look up and see that McGonagall, in fact, is standing outside the door of the change rooms, looking particularly grim. This can't be good.

"This match has been cancelled," she announced. What? Why?

"You can't cancel Quidditch!" Oliver protests.

"Silence, Wood," McGonagall insists. "You and your team mates will go to Gryffindor tower immediately. Potter, Knight, you and I will find Mr. Weasley. There's something you all need to see."

What is it that we need to see? I don't understand. We find Ron, and the three of us follow McGonagall's brisk pace. It takes me a while to realize that we're going to the hospital wing. Why would we need to see something in the hospital wing? And then it hits me. Hermione. A Muggle-born. She still hasn't been seen. And why else would McGonagall take us to the hospital wing? I blink furiously to hold back tears.

"Professor, have you seen Hermione today?" I ask, my voice quivering.

"So you've figured it out," McGonagall says, but her sad look is enough for me to figure out that my horrible theory is correct. "I might as well warn you now, seeing her like that may come as a wee bit of a shock."

I start running through the corridors to the hospital wing. I hear Ron and Harry's voices trying to call me back, but I don't listen. I run desperately, praying that she's alive. Finally, Harry and Ron catch me.

"Hazel, what is it?" Harry pants.

"Did you see Hermione at the match, Ron?" I ask, hoping they'll get the message so I won't have to blatantly say it.

"No, why?" Ron replies, and Harry looks just as confused.

"You guys, we're going to the Hospital wing. Why else would she take us there?" I ask.

"Hermione," they whisper in horror.

"Yes," I say, desperate to hold back tears.

With that, we start running like hell to the hospital wing, and burst through the doors once we finally make it. A couple beds down, lay Hermione, as still and cold-looking as a statue. Both of her hands are in a fist. A few rows down, is a curly-haired Ravenclaw girl, looking as still and cold as Hermione. Two people at once. I collapse onto a chair, and bury my heads in my hands, trying desperately to not be stupid and cry. Be strong, Hazel, be strong.

"Is she dead?" I croak.

"No, only petrified," McGonagall tells me sympathetically.

Some of my misery fades. She's only been petrified. She'll go back to her normal state eventually. As soon as the mandrakes are ready. But she's still there. Petrified. Motionless.

"She was found near the library, along with this," McGonagall says, holding up my small mirror. "Does it mean anything to any of you?"

"That's my mirror," I reply miserably, and take it from her.

I look at Hermione, and feel a fresh new wave of pain. I can't stand it. I can't stand seeing her like that. I need to get out of here or I might lose my mind.

"Let's go," I tell Harry and Ron desperately.

"All right," they mumble, and we shuffle out of the hospital wing and into Gryffindor tower.

 

I collapse onto the couch near the fire, and stare into the empty fireplace blankly. I've completely zoned out from everything, until I remember something. The combat boots Hermione got me. I promised to wear them right after the match. And so I will. I rush upstairs, take off my entire Quidditch uniform, and change into jeans, a flannel shirt, and the combat boots.

I hurry back downstairs, and sat back down on the couch. I don't have time to completely zone out, because Fred and George sit down on either side of me, and distract me.

"What?" I snap.

"What's the matter?" George asks.

"Nothing," I mumble automatically.

"Don't insult our intelligence," Fred snaps, "It obviously isn't nothing. And we know about Hermione, so don't even pretend."

"Don't bring her into this," I say miserably, burying my head into my hands once more, and regaining my composure, so I don't burst into tears right then and there. I've made it this far. I can't crack now.

"I'm sorry, Hazey," he murmurs, putting an arm around my shoulders. "A little tactless, I suppose?"

"Yes," George answers.

"But then again, you've never had any tact, have you?" I point out, smiling weakly, but my voice cracks.

"Hilarious, Hazey," Fred mutters.

"Thanks, I know," I mumble.

"Don't worry, though," Fred whispers soothingly. "She's only been petrified. They're going to make the cure after the Mandrakes are all ready and she'll be upright and reading in no time."

I laugh weakly at the last part. Fred and George continue to cheer me up until a very grim looking McGonagall enters the common room. Any bit of murmuring going on stops immediately.

"Could I have your attention, please?" she begins. "Because of recent events, these new rules will be put into effect immediately," she looks at a piece of parchment, and begins reading, "'All students will return to their house common rooms by six o'clock every evening; all students will be escorted to each class by a teacher. No exceptions.' I should tell you this: unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught, it is likely that the school will close down."

As soon as McGonagall leaves, Lee Jordan yells. "So, that's two Gryffindors, one Hufflepuff, and one Ravenclaw. Oh, and Filch's cat. Anybody else notice how Slytherin's been safe so far? It's obvious that all they're got to do is chuck out all the Slytherins in the school!"

There's a roar of approval at his words, and while everyone's yelling about expelling Slytherins, I quietly thank Fred and George for cheering me up, and walk over to Harry and Ron, as they're beckoning me forward.

"We've got to talk to Hagrid, you two," Harry begins, "I can't believe it's him, but if he did set the monster loose, he'll know how to open the Chamber of Secrets, and that's a start."

"But you heard McGonagall," Ron protests. "We're not allowed to leave the tower except for class!"

Harry looks thoughtful for a moment, but then says, "I think it's time to get my dad's old cloak out again."

Oh, so we're sneaking out using the Invisibility Cloak. All righty then. We decide to leave at midnight, and change the subject, determinedly not talking about Hermione. And I'm glad.


	23. Aragog

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Aragog**

 

At midnight, we meet up, and Harry throws the cloak over us. We scramble through the portrait hole, and walk quietly through the grounds. It's harder than ever. Teachers are at every corner since Hermione - I mean, since the last two attacks. We'll be really lucky if none of them get suspicious.

Near the Entrance Hall, I accidentally step on Ron's foot. And with combat boots on, that's got to hurt  _a lot_. Whoops. Luckily, Snape decides to sneeze at precisely the same moment that Ron swears.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I mutter, as we slip through the double doors and into the grounds.

"It's fine, but dammit, that hurt a lot, Hazel," he whispers, "Honestly, I think you might've broken my foot!"

"Oh, it can't have been that bad," I snap.

"Tell that to my broken foot!" Ron retorts.

"All right, fine, I'll-" I begin.

"Guys, shut it, we could be caught," Harry snaps.

"Oh, come on, Harry, we're outside the grounds," Ron begins.

"Nobody's here to hear us," I finish.

"Well, still, you never know!" Harry argues.

"Never know what? That one of the teachers has an Invisibility Cloak and is outside right now wearing it, waiting to catch us?" I ask.

"Exactly!" Harry says, as we arrive at Hagrid's hut.

"Whatever," Ron mutters.

I knock on Hagrid's door, and the door's thrown open by Hagrid himself, carrying a large crossbow. He looks rather tense.

"Who's there?" Hagrid asks, looking around. "Hello? Hello?"

I remember that we're invisible. Oops. I throw the cloak off of us, so that Hagrid can actually see us.

"What's that for?" Harry asks, pointing at the crossbow.

"Oh, nothing," Hagrid answers. "I- I was expectin' - it doesn't matter... Come on in, I just made a pot o' tea."

We enter his hut and he hurries to a large pot. He pours some into one mug, and ends up spilling a lot of it. He seems particularly jumpy and shaky. What's wrong with him?

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" I ask, seriously concerned.

"I'm fine! I'm all right," he insists, slightly defensive.

"Did you hear about Hermione?" Harry asks, and I sigh.

Did he have to bring that up? Oh, well. I guess I'll have to come to terms with it eventually... Hagrid nods his head grimly.

"Oh, yeah. I heard about that all righ'." he replies.

"Look, we've got to ask you something," Harry begins. "Do you know who opened the Chamber of Secrets?"

"What yeh have teh understand about that is-" Hagrid begins quickly, but is interrupted by someone knocking on the door. Hagrid looks annoyed. "Quick, under the cloak. Don' say a word! Be quiet, all o' yeh."

I throw the cloak over all of us, and we hurry into a corner, hardly daring to breathe. Hagrid opens the door. "Professor Dumbledore, sir!"

"Good evening, Hagrid," Dumbledore says. "I was wondering, could we?"

"Of course, of course," Hagrid replies, stepping aside to let him in.

Dumbledore steps into the hut, followed by a portly little man, with rumpled grey hair. He's wearing the weirdest outfit in the world. A pinstriped suit, a long black travelling cloak, pointed purple boots, and a lime green bowler hat, which he's carrying in his hands. "That's Dad's boss!" Ron whispers. "Cornelius Fudge! Minister for Magic!"

"Bad business, Hagrid," Fudge begins. "Very bad business. There's been four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things have gone far enough. The Ministry's got to act!"

"Oh, but I never - you know I never, Professor!" Hagrid protests.

"I want it understood, Cornelius," Dumbledore interjects, "that Hagrid has my full confidence."

"Albus, look, Hagrid's record is against him. I've got to take him," Fudge insists.

"Take me? Take me where?" Hagrid asks. "Not Azkaban Prison!"

"I'm afraid I have no choice, Hagrid," Fudge says.

"Already here, Fudge?" Lucius Malfoy asks, entering the hut suddenly. "Good..."

"What're you doin' here?" Hagrid says furiously. "Get outta my house!"

"Believe me, I have no pleasure being in your - you call this a house? Huh!" Lucius Malfoy begins, "No. I simply called the school, and was told the headmaster was here."

"Well, what exactly do you want with me?" Dumbledore asks serenely.

"The other Governors and I have decided that it's time for you to step aside. This is an order of suspension," Mr. Malfoy begins, holding up a scroll. "You'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel that you've rather lost your touch. Well, what, with all these attacks, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts. And I can only imagine what an awful loss that'll be to the school..."

"Yeh can't take Professor Dumbledore away!" Hagrid protests. "Take him away, and the Muggle-borns won't stand a chance. You mark my words, there'll be killin's next!"

Hagrid's right! They can't get rid of Dumbledore! Not now!

"You think so?" Mr. Malfoy asks, looking completely unconcerned.

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," Dumbledore says. "If the Governors request my removal, I will, of course, step aside. However, you will find help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

At that, Dumbledore looks directly in mine, Harry and Ron's direction. How is it that he can always tell? Why doesn't he ever say anything? Either way, that's wicked! And mad. But what's brilliant without a little madness?

"Admirable sentiments," Mr. Malfoy remarks dryly. "Shall we? Fudge!"

Mr. Malfoy strides over to the door, and gestures for Dumbledore to leave. Dumbledore walks out, and Mr. Malfoy follows. Fudge walks over to the door and looks over at Hagrid.

"Come, Hagrid. Well?" Fudge says impatiently.

"Ahem! Well, uh, if anyone was looking for some stuff, all they would have to do is follow the spiders," Hagrid announces. "Yup! That would lead them right! That's all I have to say. Oh, and someone'll have to feed Fang while I'm away."

With that, Hagrid walks out of his house. Fudge stands there in utter confusion. Fang growls, and Fudge looks around, and suddenly looks slightly afraid of Fang's largeness.

"Good boy," he says awkwardly, and hurries out of the house, closing the door behind him.

We wait a minute to check if they're gone for good, then Ron throws the cloak off of the three of us.

"Hagrid's right!" he exclaims. "With Dumbledore gone, there'll be an attack a say!"

"Look!" Harry says, pointing at the window.

There, crawled dozens of spiders. All in that straight line, hurrying as if trying to escape something. What was it that Hagrid said? Follow the spiders? Suddenly, I realize what we have to do. I don't like following a bunch of spiders, but what choice do we have? We need answers.

"Well, come on, then," I say grimly. "Let's go. Come on, Fang!"

I lead the way outside of Hagrid's hut, Fang at my heels. Once we're all outside, I turn to Harry and Ron, who are rooted to their spots.

"Come on!" I urge.

"What?" Harry asks.

"You heard Hagrid," I insist. "'Follow the spiders'!"

"They're headed into the Forbidden Forest!" Ron argues.

"We need answers," I counter, grab his wrist, and drag him along.

"Why spiders? Why could't it be 'follow the butterflies'?" Ron moans.

"I would've been a lot better, huh?" I mumble, as we enter the forest.

I light my wand, and Harry holds up a lantern from Hagrid's hut. Ron looks guiltily at the two of us.

"I'd light my wand, too, but you know, my wand is a little messed up..." Ron mumbles.

We walk through the forest, trying hard to stay on the path. Fang crashed through the lower branches, leading the way. Ron follows gingerly, then jumps as Fang howls. There's the sound of branches snapping, a rumbling noise, and then there's complete silence. My heart starts hammering in my chest. Harry squints around, then points off in the distance. "There's something moving over there," he says, "something big."

Just then, a blaze of light appears out of nowhere, in between gaps from the trees. We exchange glances, and start to run. Suddenly, Ron stops so suddenly that I bump into him.

"Harry! Hazel!" he gasps. "It's the car!"

Scratches and smeared with mud, with bits of earth and grass coming out of the headlamps, and hubcaps, the Ford Anglia looks very wild. Ron circles it in wonder, and Harry and I stay rooted to the spot, staring at it in disbelief.

"It's been in the forest all this time," Harry says incredulously.

"Look at it," I add. "The forest has turned it wild."

Harry nods, and says. "C'mon, we don't want to lose the trail," whilst looking up at the slope.

We keep walking, and eventually enter a hollow with plenty of freaky-looking shadows. Enormous, tall trees tower over us, strewn with white webbing. After a second of squinting, I realize that they're spider webs. Oh, Ron's not going to like this. At the far end of the hollow, the spiders stream toward a dark opening. Harry, Ron and I approach the opening cautiously, and my heart speeds up slightly as I hear the creepy clicking sound, echoing between the dark trees, and become progressively louder.

"I don't have a good feeling, you guys," he mumbles.

"Don't panic," I mutter.

Harry and I step closer to the opening, and Ron follows reluctantly. A huge shadow emerges, covering all three of us. A huge spider emerges. As it advances, Harry, Ron, and I slowly back away. As its eyes catch the light, I see that they're milky white. The spider is blind. For some reason, this makes the spider even scarier to me.

"You do not come from the forest..." it announces. "Your heart beats like men..."

"Well, actually, I'm a girl, but I get your point," I murmur so quietly that even I barely hear it.

"Yes, we're friends of Hagrid's," Harry informs him. "and you're... you're... Aragog, aren't you?"

Hearing this, Aragog turns his head slightly. Can spiders show interest? Can they show any sort of emotion? Because Aragog seems to be showing interest. To be fair, this spider can talk, unlike most of them, so I suppose it could show emotion as well...

"Hagrid has never sent men into out hollow before," Aragog remarks.

"He's in trouble," I explain, finally regaining my ability to talk loudly. "Up at school, there've been attacks. They think it's Hagrid. They think he opened the Chamber of Secrets. Like before."

As I explain, I notice Ron looking very nervous out of the corner of my eye. It strikes me that this must be horrible. He's deathly afraid of spiders, and here is he in front of a giant one, with tons of little ones all around. He's a pretty brave kid, being able to face his worst fear in such a way. I have the vague feeling that Ron nudged me at one point or another, but Aragog begins talking and I'm so intent on listening, that if he did, it hasn't really registered on my mind yet.

"That's a lie! Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets!" Aragog exclaims.

"But Hagrid never... that means... you're not the monster." Harry says.

"The monster was bred in the castle. I came from a distant land, in the pocket of a traveller," Aragog explains.

"Harry, Hazel..." Ron whispers weakly.

"Shh," Harry says impatiently, then adds to Aragog. "But if you're not the monster, who killed that girl fifty years ago?"

"We do not speak of it!" Aragog says. "It is an ancient creature that we spiders fear above all others!"

"But have you seen it?" I ask intently.

"I never saw any other part of the castle other than the cupboard in which Hagrid kept me in. The girl was discovered in a bathroom. When I was accused, Hagrid brought me here," Aragog answers.

"Harry, Hazel!" Ron repeats, slightly more desperate, grabbing our sleeves.

"What?" I snap, a little annoyed this time.

With a slight whimpering sound, Ron points upwards. I look upwards, and see spiders in high and low branches, dropping like paratroopers. Oh no. I can feel myself paling, and looking over at Harry, I see he's done the same.

"Well... thank you," Harry saw awkwardly. "We'll just go..."

"Go? I think not," Aragog says. "My sons and daughters don't harm Hagrid, on my command. However, I cannot deny them fresh meat when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Goodbye, friends of Hagrid."

Aragog turns, and disappears into his dark cavern. Well. This isn't good. Ron turns to Harry and I, looking utterly horrified.

"Can we panic now?" he asks weakly.

"Yeah, I reckon we can," I murmur.

We all draw our wands. I know a few spells, but not nearly enough to fight all of them off. Oh, well, we have to do what we can, don't we?

"Know any spells?" Ron asks, over his shoulder.

"One, but it isn't enough to fight them all off!" Harry replies. "Hazel?"

"I know a couple, bit it isn't enough, either," I answer. "And nor do I think our combined efforts will fight them all off."

"Oh, where's Hermione when you need her?" Ron moans.

Desperately, Harry swings the lantern he's holding. It distracts the one spiders, and the spiders arc away from the light, but once the light goes out, it's rather useless. Harry pitches it aside, and goes back to his wand. I start fighting the spiders off with my wand, using random spells, but I already know we're done for.

"It was nice knowing you two," Ron mumbles.

"Same to you," I mumble. "We've had some good times, you lot."

Fang whimpers, as the spiders hurry forward, clicking feverishly, as though they can't wait to eat us alive. I'm still trying desperately to fight them off. Suddenly, a long, loud horn sounds. A blaze of light lights up the hollow, and the Ford Anglia thundering into sight, knowing away spiders in its path. It screeches to a halt, and the doors fling open.

"Get in!" Harry yells. "Quick!"

We hurry into the car, Fang hopping into the back. Harry and Ron slam the doors shut, but suddenly, a spider appears at Harry's window.

"The windows!" I scream. "Roll up the windows!"

"I can't" Ron says desperately. "It's stuck!"

Just then, a hairy leg reaches through Ron's window. Ron steps onto the gas, throwing the car into reverse. That clears off most of the spiders, but the two on the side windows hold on tight. Harry manages to roll up his window, making his spider's legs snap off.

The Ford Anglia clears out of the hollow with a thud. I turn and see that the spider is pulling Ron from the car. I draw my wand, and I vaguely notice Harry do the same.

" _Flipendo_!" I yell, at the same moment Harry yells some other spell.

The combined effort of our spells makes the spider go flying several feet.

"Thanks for that," Ron tells us breathlessly.

"Don't mention it," Harry and I reply at the same time.

We stop. And I hear it. Clicking sounds. Horribly familiar clicking sounds. As the car flies over a ridge, I see it. A sea of spiders, heading straight for us like a heard of raging wildebeest. Ron sends the car sliding away from them, but the spiders stampede after us. Crap. I really do wish it were butterflies now.

The car drives quickly away from the spiders, but they charge after us nevertheless. Damn, these spiders are persistent. I peer ahead, ad see one escape route through all the fallen trees. One narrow route to freedom.

"That way! It's the only way out!" Harry exclaims, looks back, and adds. "Hurry! They're catching up!"

Ron slams his foot onto the accelerator, just as a giant spider appears out of nowhere. In front of our best and only escape route. We're dead. Unless...

"Ron, can you get us into the air?" I ask desperately.

"The flying gear's jammed!" Ron exclaims.

Dammit. Why is everything deciding not to work all of a sudden?! The spiders behind us hurry forward, while the giant one in front waits patiently for us. Harry and I put out hands on the gear shift as well, and just as the tarantula's pincers open to kill us, the gear works! The car flies over the trees, and I could cry from happiness and relief. We sail over the trees, and land beside Hagrid's hut.

The doors open, and Fang jumps out of the car, clearly happy to be free. We all exit the car. Ron looks particularly mad now that we're safe, and it's obvious and understandable why.

"'Follow the spiders'!" he begins furiously. "'Follow the spiders'! If Hagrid every gets out of Azkaban, I'll kill him! I mean, what was the point of sending us there! What have we found out exactly?"

"We know one thing," Harry points out. "Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets... he was innocent."

Harry lets Fang back into Hagrid's hut, and gets his Invisibility Cloak. He throws it over us, and we head back up to the castle. Up staircases and through corridors until we're back at the portrait of the Fat Lady. We mutter the password, ignore her suspicious look, and enter the empty common room.

I bid them goodnight, and hurry upstairs. Once in my dormitory, which is horrible empty simply because Hermione's been petrified, I change into my pyjamas and crawl into bed, and pull the curtains of my four-poster around me.

Once there, I consider - like I often seem to do - how bloody lucky Harry, Ron and I are to be alive.l Lucky that the Ford Anglia didn't come a second later. How I at least knew a few spells that were able to sustain us until the car came. How the flying gear finally worked before it was too late. How we were never caught wandering the castle in the first place.

I think about what Aragog said. So, the monster is some horrible creature that spiders fear above everything else. To the point where they don't even talk about it. It's sort of like the creature is Voldemort, and the spiders are most of the wizarding world. What else did he say? The girl who was killed was found in a bathroom... A bathroom? A crazy idea hits me. What if the girl never left the bathroom? What if she's still there? What if it's none other than Moaning Myrtle?


	24. It's Obvious What We Have To Do

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: It's Obvious What We Have To Do**

 

The next day, we get good news and bad news. The good news is that the Mandrakes are ready, and tonight, they'll be able to revive all of those who've been petrified. I cheer loudly with everyone else. The bad news is that for some reason, we're still having exams. How the hell are we supposed to study and concentrate for exams during all of this chaos? Are they mental? **  
**

During Defence Against the Dark Arts, Lockhart is being ridiculously annoying. Going on about how he knew it was Hagrid the entire time, and that everyone should be celebrating because know they'll be no more attacks. God, I wish he'd shut up. On the plus side, he's not as handsome as usual. His hair isn't as sleek as usual, and he looks rather tired from patrolling the corridors for so long.

He supervises the Gryffindors to History of Magic, but all I really want to do is talk to Myrtle. Harry and Ron had figured it out too, so now we just need an opportunity to do so.

"Mark my words," Lockhart declares, snapping me out of my thoughts. "The first words out of those poor petrified people's mouths will be 'It was Hagrid.' Frankly, I'm astounded that McGonagall finds all these extra precautions necessary."

"I agree, sir," Harry says, making Ron and I drop our books in surprise. What the hell does he think he's doing?

"Thank you, Harry," Lockhart says graciously, while waiting for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass, "We teachers have enough to be getting on with at the moment, without adding escorting students to classes, and staying up all night."

"That's right, Professor," Ron agrees, catching on, and finally, I understand.

"Yeah, why don't you leave us here, sir," I add, "it's only one more corridor..."

"You know what, Ms. Knight," Lockhart says. "I think I will. I have to go prepare for my next class."

With that, he hurries off. Prepare for his next class? More like curl his hair.

"Prepare his class," Ron sneers. "more like curl his hair."

"I know, right?" I agree. "Brilliant idea, Harry, really."

We let the rest of the Gryffindors pass ahead of us, then dart down a side passage to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Just as we congratulate each other some more on our brilliant scheme, a very unwanted surprise comes. "Potter, Weasley, Knight, what do you think you're doing?" McGonagall asks, her mouth a very thin line.

"We were - we were going-" Ron stammers. "We were going to go and see-"

"Hermione," I invent wildly, and Ron, Harry and McGonagall look at me.

"We haven't seen her in ages, Professor," I go on, treading on Ron and Harry's feet gently, "and we wanted to sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her that the Mandrakes are nearly ready, and not to worry."

McGonagall's still staring at me, and I prepare myself for her to explode. But instead, when she speaks, it's weirdly a croaky sort of voice.

"Of course," she croaks, and to my amazement, there's a tear glistening in her eye. "Of course, I realize this has been hardest on the friends of those who've been... I quite understand. Yes, Ms. Knight, of course, you may visit Ms. Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you've gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I've given my permission."

Harry, Ron, and I walk away quickly, and I can hardly believe that we just avoided a detention. Unbelievable! As we turn the corner, I can distinctly hear McGonagall blow her nose. Madam Pomfrey lets us in the hospital wing, but is reluctant. "There's no use in talking to a petrified person," she insists.

It's true, of course. We wouldn't get more of a response from Hermione than we would from her bedside table or the curtains around her bed if we tell her that everything's going to be all right. "Wonder if she did see the attacker, though," Ron mutters sadly. "Because if he sneaked up on them all, no one'll ever know..."

But I'm staring intently at Hermione's right fist. There's something in there. Bending closer towards it, I realize that there's a piece of parchment scrunched inside her fist. Making sure I'm not seen by Madam Pomfrey, I point this out to Harry and Ron, and begin trying to take it out without ripping the parchment, or hurting Hermione.

"Hazel, she's been petrified! She's not going to notice anything!" Ron half whispers, half yells.

"Oh, right," I mumble, then speed up the process a little.

Eventually, I'm able to tear it out of Hermione's hand. I smooth it out eagerly, and Harry and Ron lean in over my shoulders to read as well:

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the mean of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

This is it. This is the answer. Hermione. Hermione Granger, you brilliant, brilliant girl.

"Harry, Ron, this is it," I tell them breathlessly. "This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber of Secrets. It's a Basilisk. A giant serpent! I'll bet you anything that's what you've been hearing all over the castle, Harry. And why nobody else could hear it. Because you're the only one here who can understand Parseltongue, except for the heir, of course," I look around at the begs, and a new idea strikes me. "And the reason nobody's died yet is because... nobody has looked it in the eye. Not directly, at least. Colin saw it through his camera. Didn't you tell us that Justin was behind Nearly Headless Nick. Harry?"

"That's right! He must've saw it through him," Harry agrees. "Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't die again!"

"Exactly!" I agree. "And Hermione must have guessed that it was a Basilisk before she checked. So, to be safe, she borrowed my mirror. And when she found it, she went to the nearest person and warned them to take out a mirror. And I suppose they both held them up, and - and-"

Ron's jaw drops open in disbelief, and Harry just nods, smiling excitedly.

"And Mrs. Norris?" Ron asks eagerly.

"Mrs. Norris..." I murmur, picturing the corridor on Halloween. "The flood Moaning Myrtle made... Mrs. Norris must've only seen its reflection on the water!"

I scan the page eagerly again. The more I look at it, the more sense it makes. This is it! Harry adds in the part about the roosters, how they were killed. Of course! The heir wouldn't want any roosters once the chamber was open, so they killed them all!"

"But how's it been getting around?" Ron asks. "A giant snake... someone would've seen..."

"Hermione's already answered that question." I reply, pointing at the corner of the page. "Pipes."

"It's been using the plumbing... that's why I heard it in the wall," Harry says.

Suddenly, Ron grabs my arm.

"Wait, what if the chamber is in a bathroom?" Ron begins.

"Moaning Myrtle's bathroom." Harry and I finish.

We decide to go down to the staff room, since this is pretty big news. We run downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered, we go right into the deserted staff room. We pace around, much too excited to sit. The bell never comes. Instead, McGonagall's voice, magically magnified, rings out.

"All students will return to their dormitories immediately. Teachers, to the staff room."

We freeze, then decide to hid in a wardrobe where the teachers keep their cloaks. The door of the staff room bangs open, and teachers file in. When McGonagall arrives, everyone becomes silent.

"It has happened," she says, looking white. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the chamber itself."

"How can you be sure?" Flitwick squeaks, looking scared.

"The Heir of Slytherin left another message," McGonagall explains. "'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever'."

"Which student?" Madam Hooch asks, as Flitwick bursts into tears.

"Ginny Weasley," McGonagall replies.

Beside me, I can feel Ron sink down to the bottom of the wardrobe. It takes all my self control not to cry or gasp. I keep my face blank. McGonagall's just going on about how Hogwarts will have to close down, when the door bangs open. I half expect it to be Dumbledore, but instead, to my disappointment, it's a beaming Lockhart.

"So sorry - I dozed off - what did I miss?"

Several teachers look at Lockhart in what I think is hatred. Snape stands up from his chair and walks over to Lockhart.

"Just the man," he says. "The very man. A girl has been taken by the monster. Into the Chamber itself. Your moment has come at last."

"My moment?" Lockhart repeats, paling.

"That's right," Sprout chips in, "weren't you telling me just yesterday that you've known all along where the Entrance to the Chamber is?"

Lockhart stares around at his stony-faced co-worked in disbelief, trying to get out of it, but it's obvious that they're insisting.

"All right," he says finally. "I'll be in my office, getting - getting ready."

"Right, that's got him out from under our feet," McGonagall announced, nostrils flaring. "The heads of House shall inform their students what has happened. Tell them that the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories."

The teachers rise one by one, and leave the room. When the room is completely empty, we stagger out off the wardrobe.

"She knew something," Ron says, as we leave the staff room with desperate purpose. "She'd found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That's why she was taken. I mean she was - is - a pure-blood. There can't be any other reason."

"C'mon, let's go see Lockhart," Harry suggests. "He may be a brainless git, but he's going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him what we know..."

"Fair enough," I agree, and so we head for Lockhart's office.

"Harry, Hazel," Ron says. "D'you think there's any chance at all that she's not - you know."

I turn to face Ron at his words. If Ginny was only just taken down now, there's a chance that she's still alive. A very slim chance, but a chance all the same. But it depends on so many things, though. She can be dead just by looking into the Basilisk's eyes. Or maybe the heir wants to kill her in a different way. A longer way. Realistically, she probably isn't alive. But by looking into Ron's sad, hopeless, depressed eyes, it's obvious I can't tell him that. I squeeze his wrist reassuringly.

"She'll be all right," I promise. "We'll find her. We'll save her. I promise."


	25. Into the Chamber...

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Into the Chamber...**

 

He smiles gratefully at me, then turns away. I can tell that he's still troubled. I turn away to face Harry, and I can tell that he's thinking the same thing. There's a very slim chance that I'm right, but I can't let that show. Ron's probably already depressed enough without me acting all hopeless.

We start running, and dash into Lockhart's office. I don't understand what I see at all. The office is stripped to the shelves. Two large trunks stand opened, full with some of his stuff.

"Professor, we've got some information for you-" Harry begins, notices the state of the office, then asks. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Well, yes, actually," Lockhart admits. "Urgent call. Unavoidable. Got to go..."

"What about my sister?" Ron demands.

"Well, as to that - most unfortunate," Lockhart remarks. "No one regrets more than I-"

You're the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Ron says incredulously.

"You can't go now!" I add angrily.

"I must say, when I took the job, nothing in the job description-" Lockhart stammers.

"You're running away?" Harry asks in disbelief. "After all the stuff you did in your books?"

"Books can be misleading!" Lockhart declares.

"You wrote them!" I argue.

"My dear girl, do use your common sense!" Lockhart exclaims. "My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think I'd done all those things. Nobody wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He's look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all..."

"You're a fraud!" I exclaim. "You've just been taking credit for what a load of other wizards have done!"

"Hazel, Hazel, Hazel," Lockhart says. "There was work involved. I had to track down these people and manage to find out exactly how they did what they did. No, it's not all about book signings, and publicity photos. If you want fame, you have to be prepared for a long, hard slog."

"Is there anything you  _can_ do?" Ron asks in disbelief.

"Yes, now that you mention it. I'm rather gifted with Memory Charms. Otherwise, you see, all those wizards would've gone blabbing and I'd never have sold another book. I'm afraid I'll have to do the same to you, lest you do the same."

Lockhart raises his wand, but Harry is quicker. He shouts, " _Expelliarmus_!" and Lockhart flies back several feet, toppling onto one of his trunks, his wand flying across the room.

"Looks like those duelling lessons came in handy after all, Professor," Harry says.

"Take his wand, Ron," I tell him, and he runs across the room, and picks up the wand.

Lockhart walks ahead of us to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, our wands pointed at his back to make sure he doesn't decide to run away. We enter the bathroom, and see Myrtle floating above the cistern.

"Who's there? Oh..." Myrtle sees Harry, and does what I think she thinks is a flirty smile. "Hello, Harry. What do you want?"

"To ask you how you died," Harry replies, and Myrtle looks flattered.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she begins with relish. "It happened right here. In this very cubicle. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in."

"Who was it, Myrtle?" I ask intently.

"I don't know! I was distraught!" she exclaims. "But they said something funny. A kind of made-up language. And I realized it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go away, and... I died."

"Just like that?" Harry asks. "How?"

"No idea," Myrtle replies. "I just remember seeing a great big pair of yellow eyes, over there..."

Myrtle points over to the sinks, and Harry, Ron and I hurry over to them. We start examining the pipes below, and the tiles above. While I do this, I keep sending Lockhart sideways glances to make sure he doesn't leave.

"This is it, you two," Harry says, pointing to a snake on one of the copper taps. "This is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets."

"Say something, Harry," Ron orders. "Say something in Parseltongue."

Harry stares at the tap self-consciously. He speaks. In English. Ron and I shake our heads at him. He tries again, and this time, he's successful. The circular group of pipes opens up, and reveals a large pipe, big enough for even Hagrid to slide through.

"Excellent, Harry," Lockhart says. "Well, then, I'll just be going. There's no need for me-"

"Oh, yes there is," Harry protests, as Ron and I drag him back so far that he has to grab onto the edges of the sinks so he doesn't fall through. "You first."

"Now, children," Lockhart says. "What good would it do?"

"A bloody lot if it's a two hundred foot drop onto jagged rocks," Ron retorts.

"Right, better you than us," I agree.

Lockhart grimly turns to face the dark, gaping hole. He turns around to ask something, but Ron gives him a shove and he topples head first through the hole and out of sight. Harry, Ron and I wait in silence.

"It really is quite filthy down here," Lockhart says.

"All right," Harry says. "Let's go."

"Harry," Myrtle pipes up. "If you die down there, you're welcome to share my toilet."

Bloody hell! - Myrtle's flirting with Harry. This is beyond creepy, considering the fact that Myrtle is  _technically_ over fifty years old...

"Thanks, Myrtle," Harry mumbles, looking creeped out. I don't blame him.

He turns and jumps. Ron follows a few seconds later, and I jump down last. I slide down wicked fast, catching glimpses of other pipes going off in different directions. The pipe twists and turns until it levels out, and I fly out of the pipe, onto the damp floor of a tunnel.

"Ouch," I mumble. "You think the Heir of Slytherin would be smart enough to think of a way to get a mat or something here for a softer landing."

Harry lights his wand and warns, "Remember, any sign of movement, close your eyes straight away."

Harry leads the way down the tunnel. The ground's littered with tiny skeletons. A little creepy, but I ignore it. After a little while, Ron speaks, his voice hollow with dread.

"What's that? Up ahead?" Ron asks.

"It looks like a snake," Lockhart answers. "And a big one at that."

And he quickly covers his eyes. Harry suggests it could be asleep. Ron and I draw our wands, as Harry shines his light on it, revealing the coil of an empty snake skin.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaims. "Whatever shed this must be twenty feet long! Or more!"

There's a thumping sound. I turn around to the source of the noise and see that Lockhart's passed out.

"Heart of a lion, this one," Ron says sarcastically, and I nod my head.

Out of nowhere, Lockhart grabs Ron's wand in his haste, and scrambles to his feet, slightly hysterical and wild-eyes.

"The adventure ends here! But don't fret. The world will know our story. How I was too late to save the girl. How you three tragically lost your winds at the sight of her mangled body. I'll even bind a limited edition in this snake skin. Say goodbye to your memories."

I raise my wand, but I don't need to. As Lockhart says the spell, Ron's wand explodes, blasting Lockhart off his feet, and spitting jets of fire onto the rocks above. As rocks fall like rain, Ron, who's closest to me, grabs my wrist, and leaps away. We both fall on the floor on our stomachs, and he throws him arm around my back, as though to protect me from the worst of it. Once the rocks stop falling, Ron and I sit up. There's a solid wall of rocks in front of us.

Wait, where's Harry? I scramble up to my feet, and through a small hole, I see him on the other side. Ron gets to his feet as well.

"Ron! Hazel! Are you all right?" Harry asks.

"We are, but this gits not," Ron replies. "He got blasted by my wand."

As Ron speaks, Lockhart, looking dazed, sits up. He looks up at Ron and me in mild interest.

"This is an odd sort of place," he states. "Do you two live here?"

"No!" Ron replies, picks up a rock, and hits him in the head. Lockhart passes out again. "What now?"

"Wait here," Harry begins. "I'll go and find Ginny. If I'm not back in an hour..."

"We'll shift some of these rocks so that you can get through once you get back. And, Harry..." I say, but falter slightly.

"See you in a bit," Harry finishes for me, and he walks away.

"Well, let's get to it," I tell Ron, and we begin shifting through the rocks carefully.

We try to talk, but we're both too nervous to joke around like we usually do, so we just work in comfortable yet tense silence for about half an hour. After that, it's apparent to both of us that silence is worse than conversation. But so is reassuring one another, because we're reminded of the situation. So we settle for joking around, and after a few minutes of determined conversation, we find that it's good to talk and get our minds off our nervousness. We try to get each other to laugh, and I tell him about the pranks I played on Ernie and Malfoy. He laughs, and the mere memory of it makes me laugh as well.

As if we don't have enough on our minds, we have to make sure Lockhart doesn't go wandering off. Ever since he's lost his memory, he's a lot braver. Not to mention, a real danger to himself.. I wish he'd sit quietly.

"Sit," I order, after I stop him from going back to the pipe, and he sits down on his place, smiling placidly. I exchange glances with Ron, and we both let out stifled laughs.

After what I think is an hour, we've made a pretty good hole. At least, Harry and Ginny would be able to go through it if - I mean, once - they come. I look through it, and vaguely see two figures in the distance. How are they? Is it Ginny and Harry? Or Ginny and the heir? Or Harry and the heir?

"Ron," I hiss quietly, "Look at those two figures. Do you reckon it's Harry and Ginny?"

"I reckon we can't be too safe," he replies, picking up Lockhart's wand.

I draw my own wand, and nervously point it at the hole. I pray silently that it's Harry and Ginny, and by half-glancing at Ron, I can tell he's doing the same thing. I keep repeating that everything'll be all right. Keep calm, Hazel, everything's going to be all right. Don't worry, everything'll be all right...


	26. Relief and Rewards

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Relief and Rewards**

 

Once the two figures finally become distinct enough for me to see who they are, I sigh in relief. It's Harry and Ginny! Along with a beautiful looking orangey-red bird. And Harry's carrying a sword with a ruby-encrusted hilt, and a diary that's been completely destroyed. Odd. I wriggle through, shortly followed by Ron, and tackle Ginny in a hug. I pull away and hug Harry, as Ron hugs his sister.

"You're alive," Ron breathes, as I pull away from Harry. "I can't believe it."

"I'm going to be expelled, I just know it!" Ginny wails.

"Remind you of anyone?" Ron asks Harry and I, and I grin broadly.

"Where's Lockhart?" Harry asks, and I point to Lockhart, who's sitting all by himself, humming placidly.

"His memory charm backfired. He hasn't a clue who he is," I explain. "We kept having to stop him wandering around. He may be braver, but he's real danger to himself."

Harry looks upward, and I follow suit. There's an opening, hundreds of feet up. The bird circles around, then flutters in front of Harry. What's that all about?

"What's with the bird?" Ron asks.

"I think... I think he's telling me that he can take us out of here," Harry replies.

We all line up. Harry grabs the bird's tail, then Ginny's hand. She grabs Ron's, who takes mine. I take Lockhart's. After warning us to hang on tightly, Harry gives the bird the say-so to take off. To my utter amazement, he's able to pick all of us up without a problem.

"AMAZING!" Lockhart yells. "THIS IS JUST LIKE MAGIC!"

Once back in Myrtle's bathroom, we hurry out quickly. We look around, as though looking for a sign that tells us what to do next.

"Let's go to McGonagall's office," I suggest. "I reckon Mr. and Mrs. Weasley'll be there, too."

We hurry over to McGonagall's office, and I open the door. To my amazement, I see Dumbledore standing there by the mantelpiece. I clear my throat a little, and they all look up.

"GINNY!" Mrs. Weasley shouts, jumps to her feet, followed by Mr. Weasley, and they both fling themselves at their daughter.

"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?" Mrs. Weasley asks, pulling Harry, Ron and I into a tight hug.

"I think we would all like to know that," McGonagall says weakly.

Harry hesitates, then places the sword, and the diary on McGonagall's desk. then he takes a deep breath, and tells the entire story. For nearly a quarter of an hour, he talks about how he heard the disembodies voice; how Hermione had finally realized that the monster was a Basilisk; how we had guessed that Myrtle was the girl who was killed, and that the Chamber lay in her very bathroom...

"Very well, Potter," McGonagall prompts, after he pauses a little, "You found the entrance to the Chamber, breaking about fifty school rules in the process, might I add. But how on earth did you all get out of there alive?"

So, Harry, his voice slightly hoarse now, explains everything that went down in the Chamber of Secrets. How Fawkes arrives right on time, and how the sword materialized from inside the Sorting Hat. Harry falters slightly, at the end, and glances at Dumbledore, who smiles faintly.

"What interests me most," pipes up Dumbledore gently, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

"W-what's that?" says Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. "You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not... Ginny hasn't been... has she?"

"It was this diary," says Harry quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle write it when he was sixteen..."

Dumbledore takes the diary from Harry, and peers at it carefully.

"Brilliant," he says softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turns around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered. Just like I am right now. "Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school... travelled far and wide... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But, Ginny," says Mrs. Weasley. "What's our Ginny got to do with - with - him?"

"His d-diary," Ginny sobs. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year-"

"Ginny!" says Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you anything. What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain? Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic!"

"I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone has just left it in there and forgotten about it-"

There's no way that's true. Someone must have put it there. But who? I start thinking back to the day we got our school supplies, but I'm interrupted by Dumbledore.

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupts in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he adds, twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out the Mandrake juice - I daresay the Basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So, Hermione's okay!" Ron and I say brightly.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," says Dumbledore.

McGonagall goes off to the kitchens, to tell the house-elves to prepare a feast for the happy event, leaving Harry, Ron and I alone with Dumbledore.

"I distinctly remember telling you that any more rule-breaking and I would expel you," Dumbledore begins, and Ron's mouth falls open with horror. "Which just goes to show that even the best of us have to eat our words sometimes! You will all receive awards for special services to the school, and - ah, yes - two-hundred points apiece for Gryffindor."

Ron turns bright pink, and closes his mouth. Harry and I grin at one another.

"But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added. "Why so modest, Gilderoy?"

I give a slight start. I've completely forgotten about Lockhart!

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quickly, "there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart-"

"Am I a professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise. "Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?

"He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfires," Ron explained quietly to Dumbledore.

"Dear me," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver moustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

"Sword?" said Lockhart dimly. "Haven't got a sword. That boy has, though." He pointed at Harry. "He'll lend you one."

"Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?" Dumbledore said to Ron and I. "Oh, and send a letter to Azkaban. We'll be needed our Gamekeeper back."

He hands me a scroll of parchment, which I take happily. Lockhart ambles out, and Ron and I follow, casting Dumbledore and Harry a curious look as we shut the door. We're a lot more light-hearted right now, and laugh and joke the whole way to the hospital wing. Once there, we explain what happened to Lockhart. When Madam Pomfrey notices that we're craning our necks to get a glimpse of Hermione, she kicks us out, obviously irritated.

"Oh, well, we'll see her later, I guess," I tell Ron. "We should probably use Midnight, he doesn't get to send too many letters."

"All right, he's better than Errol," Ron replies, shrugging.

Once in the owlery, we attach the letter to Midnight's leg, and watch him fly away until we can't see him any longer. I beam at Ron.

"Have you ever been so happy you could sing?" I ask.

"Yes, but I'm not going to sing right now," he replies.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because I sound like a dying cat," Ron answers, and I burst out laughing.

"Come on, you can't be that bad," I protest.

"But I am," he insists.

"Just sing," I say.

"No," he says.

"Come on, just this once!" I plead. "Just sing happy birthday!"

"All right, all right, keep your hair on," he mumbles.

He starts singing, and I burst out laughing. He right. He really does sound horrible. I cover his mouth with my hand, laughing.

"Maybe you shouldn't finish," I suggest, taking my hand off his mouth.

"I told you," he points out.

 

Later, at the feast, we're all eating, and laughing and generally having a good time. How could we not? This is a really great day, even though Harry nearly died. I look around, and see Hermione! Hermione! She's back!

"Harry, Ron," I whisper. "It's Hermione!"

The three of us stand up, and she starts running towards us. She throws her arms around me, grinning.

"You solved it! You solved it!" she exclaims.

"With loads of help from you," I point out, as she pulls away to embrace Harry.

"Yeah, thanks, Hermione," Harry agrees, as she pulls away.

She turns to hug Ron, they pause, looking at each other awkwardly. They finally shake hands. I roll my eyes at them.

"For Merlin's sake, you two, just hug," I say, and they glare at me, then hug quickly.

"Welcome back, Hermione," Ron says casually, and I give Harry a glance that says, 'I bet you anything they're going to end up married.'

"Obviously," Harry murmurs, grinning.

McGonagall taps her goblet, and we sit back down in our seats. Dumbledore stands up to address the school. "Before we begin the feast, let's all give a round of applause for Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey, whose Mandrake Juice has been successfully administered to all of those who've been petrified."

There's a round of applause, and I cheer loudly.

"Also, in the wake of recent events, as a school treat, all exams have been cancelled," Dumbledore announces.

Everyone cheers happily, except for Hermione, who looks horror-struck. I roll my eyes and smile at her. You can always count on Hermione to be upset that exams have been cancelled.

Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall opens. Hagrid enters, then stops, looking around at all the silent students, who are staring at him.

"Sorry I'm late," he says. "The owl delivering my release papers came rather late. I reckon he got lost."

Ron and I exchange slightly embarrassed glances. Hagrid walks down the isle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students. He stops at where Harry, Hermione, Ron and I are sitting.

"I jus' want ter say... that if it weren't fer you, Harry... you an' Ron... an' Hermione... an' Hazel... Well, I jus' want ter say... Thanks." Hagrid stammers, and Harry gets to his feet.

"There's no Hogwarts without you, Hagrid." he says, then hugs him,

At that moment, Dumbledore gets to his feet and starts clapping. McGonagall follows suit. Pretty soon, everyone's clapping, and most are on their feet as well. Everyone except the Slytherins, that is. Harry pulls away and starts clapping as well. Hagrid blinks, wipes his eyes, and waved sheepishly at all the students crowding him. What a beautiful evening.


	27. Saying Goodbye

**More Danger and More Mysteries**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Saying Goodbye**

 

The rest of the term passes by in a blur of happiness. Everything, for the most part, was back to normal. We had no more Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. I find these to be wonderful changes, really.

Too soon, it's time to board the Hogwarts Express. I'm going back to Privet Drive. Back with the Martins. Oh, woopie. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny and I get a compartment all to ourselves. We use the rest of the time we have to use magic to the fullest. We play Exploding Snap, set off the rest of Fred and George's fireworks, and practice disarming each other by magic. Harry's quite good at it. I'm not perfect, but I'm getting there.

As we're talking, Ginny brings up Percy. And, to my amazement, his  _girlfriend_. Percy has a girlfriend! I never thought it would happen! Fred drops a stack of books on George's head.

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," Ginny explains, giggling. "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was - you know - attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she adds anxiously.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.

"Definitely not," said George, sniggering.

Harry turns to Ron and Hermione once the Hogwarts express pulls to stop and we're out on the platform, and I decide to let him say his goodbyes to them first. I turn to Fred and George, my arms crossed, glowering at them.

"You two better write to me," I tell them threateningly.

"Oh, yeah?" George asks.

"Or what?" Fred adds.

"Or I'll hex you into the next century when term starts," I reply simply.

"We have two years more experience than you," George retorts devilishly. "Besides, there're two of us and only one of you. I think we'd win."

"Oh, yeah?" I challenge. "I have Hermione, and her photographic memory. I'll just ask her to teach me everything she knows."

"Damn, we'd be screwed," Fred mumbles.

"Yes, you would be." I agree.

"All right, we'll right to you," George says. "But only because-"

"-you love us so much," Fred finishes cheekily.

"Um, no," I say. "You wish. More like I'll need more company and laughs. Remember, this is the Martins I'm talking about. They'll make sure I never see Harry again if it seems like I'm having any sort of fun with him."

"Oh, yeah, speaking of the Martins," George says. "Remember our deal-"

"-if that uncle of yours hits you again, you better tell us," Fred finishes.

"I will, I will," I say, holding my hands up in surrender. "Geez, I'm Hazel Knight, I keep my promises, you know."

"Right, we'll see you later, Knight," Fred says.

"Yeah, you will," I agree, hug them each in turn, smile, wave, and walk over to Ron and Hermione.

"And you two," I say, "better write to me as well."

"You know I will," Hermione say earnestly.

"I suppose I will," Ron adds, in a mock-reluctant voice, and I punch his arm lightly.

I hug them both. As I hug Hermione, she mutters something in my ear. "Besides, I'll need to know if you've come to your senses and realized that you're in love with Fred. Or, at least, about to come to your senses."

"Mione!" I exclaim, punching her lightly, blushing and laughing.

"What're you two on about?" Ron asks, confused.

"Nothing you should worry yourself about, Ronald," I answer quickly.

"All right, then," he mumbles, and along with Harry, we walk through the barrier into the Muggle world.

Goodbye, Hogwarts. Don't fret though. I will return...


End file.
